


Home Is Where I Am With You

by veritas_st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, criminal minds au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is pretty sure he’s not in love with Derek, despite what everyone else thinks.  Derek’s his…best friend?  Soulmate?  One in a million love of a life time?  He’s not really sure how to describe him but he’s pretty sure he’s not <i>in</i> love with Derek.  </p><p>Add in a crazy psycho killer, Stiles as a technical genius and Derek as the brilliant behavioural analyst and things get pretty complicated when Stiles tries to figure out his feelings for Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [five_of_five](https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_of_five/gifts).



> For Molls, who's lost someone important but still has the treehouse. Molls, I love you.

“You have reached technical genius, Stiles The Great Stilinski, how may I serve you?” 

“I think you know how you can serve me, baby boy,” Stiles leans back in his chair and smiles to himself as the deep, soothing timbre of Derek’s voice fills his head. 

“Hey big guy,” he spins slightly on his chair. The screens in front of him are ready for anything the team throw at him and the white cursor on the black search parameter box blinks in time with his pulse. 

“You ready for work kiddo?” Derek asks and there’s that faint smirk in his voice that means he’s alone and Stiles isn’t on speaker. 

“Depends on what work we’re talking about,” Stiles replies and Derek laughs gently. 

“I could sit here and exchange double entendres with you all day Stiles but sadly we have a sicko to catch.” 

“Never any time for us,” Stiles sighs dramatically, “what do you need?” He leans forward, fingers resting over his keyboard. 

“Male, 25-35, labourer jobs, in the system probably, will have a history of violence, more than likely suffering from Schizophrenia. We think he thinks he’s doing God’s work so look for anyone even remotely active in the church community within 50 miles of the town. 

“I hate the religious nut jobs,” Stiles grumbles, fingers flying over the keyboard. Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat like he agrees. In the background Stiles hears a door open and the unmistakable sound of Isaac trying to tell someone that something is “really, very simple to understand” when actually it’s probably impossible to comprehend for lay people. Isaac may be a certified genius but his people skills leave a lot to be desired. 

“Got four names, one moved away a couple of months ago, now lives in California. One has a perfect bill of health according to his records, no sign of Schizophrenia. The other has a family so can we rule him out please? Ok, so, Brian McDonald, works at the local lumber yard a handful of hours a week, was an alter boy at the local Catholic church when he was a kid until being diagnosed with Schizophrenia when he was 14, mother dumped him on social services poor kid and he bounced around foster homes until he was 18.” 

“You got…” Derek starts and Stiles stabs a button on his keyboard with his pen. 

“An address? Do you need to ask?” Isaac’s phone beeps in the distance and Derek lets out a puff of air that could be a laugh. 

“I love you,” he croons down the phone and Stiles laughs. 

“How could you not?” 

…

Stiles is sitting at Derek’s desk when the team gets back, feet crossed at the ankles on top of precarious pile of paper that’s been threatening to fall for weeks now. Isaac gives him a passing smile that’s as brilliant and genuine as it is quick. The kid’s (although Stiles shouldn’t really call him a kid, they’re the same age but there’s something almost innocent about Isaac that makes people want to look after him) a bonefide genius. He joined a couple of years ago and got requested by John’s Team instantly. That level of genius is incredibly useful when looking into the minds of Psychos. Isaac has a way of getting right under the skin of even the most mentally disturbed killers they investigate. He’s worked his way into everyone’s life and has made an almost unhealthy attachment to Derek. Derek looks out for him and Isaac leans on Derek when things get too tough. 

Scott, Stiles’s best and oldest friend, waves enthusiastically at him across the bullpen, mouths he’ll call him later and heads off probably in search of Allison. Allison joined the team when Lydia went MIA after her boyfriend Jackson was killed. Her father had been investigated by the BAU years before, and she had a unique perspective on serial killers who posed as family men. Deaton had requested her and she had tried to fit into the team that was mourning the loss of one of their own. She was sweet and smiled like she meant it and Scott had fallen instantly. She had fallen just as quickly and after Lydia came back, Allison had transferred to another team but was frequently seen hanging out at Scott’s desk. Or Lydia’s. Stiles doesn’t know how those two became friends but there’s a bond there that he doesn’t want to mess with. 

Lydia smacks the back of his head then leans down to kiss it when Stiles protests. Lydia is fierce and scary but crack that rock solid exterior and she’s gooey, sweet and fiercely loyal. Stiles held a candle for her for years but now he just loves her as a best friend and confidante and someone to be more than a little afraid off. Jackson being killed had hit her hard but she had come back to the team after a few months, (a few months of Stiles searching for any clues as to her whereabouts) stronger and ready to work, although there had been, and still is, a world weary look to her eyes that hadn’t been there before. John hadn’t questioned her coming back, at least not to her face, just kept a wary eye on her from a distance and offered a shoulder whenever she needed. 

John nodded in Stiles’s direction. John is Stiles’s dad. He had despaired at Stiles’s love of all things technical and internet based for years and when Stiles had been caught trying to hack into the FBI files from his dorm room at college, the BAU had snapped him up, much to John’s embarrassment, and told Stiles it was either work for them or go to prison. Stiles, funnily enough, had chosen the BAU and had loved every second of it. He was the best Technical Analysis in the department and John was begrudgingly proud of his son. John rested a strong hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Even though Stiles had his own tiny shoe box apartment in the middle of town, they still got together once a week and had dinner. If only to make sure his dad ate right at least once.

“What are you force feeding me tomorrow?” he looks at his watch, “or later on this morning?” John asks and Stiles grins up at him. There’s line of his face that weren’t there a few years ago, but his face is still warm and kind. 

“Vegetables,” Stiles replies and John makes a face that makes him look about 5 years old. 

“See you later,” he says and Stiles nods. 

“Just making sure D-Man’s good and then I’ll be over later.” John raises an eyebrow and Stiles squirms under the scrutiny. John has always been able to read what Stiles is up to just by staring at him like he is right now, but Stiles isn’t sure what he’s looking for right now. “What?” 

“Nothing.” John shakes his head as the door slam open and Derek grins across the bullpen, taking off his glasses like he’s some sort of Abercrombie and Fitch model. Stiles shakes his head with his dad and raises an eyebrow at Derek. 

“Show off,” he mutters and John snorts out a laugh as he walks away. 

Derek is gorgeous. Both men and women alike seem to think so, and no matter how many times Stiles tells himself he doesn’t like Derek like that, he can still appreciate a fine specimen when he sees one. 

Derek’s family died when he was young, a crazy ex girlfriend who is now locked away for her own safety as much as societies set his family home on fire thinking the entire family was a pack of werewolves. Derek had been 12, his older sister Laura 14. His uncle had made it out of the house, survived with burn scars down one side of his face. Peter Hale now heads up the entire department. Looking at Derek sauntering across the bullpen, aviator sunglasses clamped between his teeth, you would find it hard to believe that beneath that egotistical exterior lay a deeply insecure, guilt ridden, broken little boy. John sees it, Stiles sees it occasionally, catches glimpses of it although Derek prefers Stiles to know that part of him exists and never see it. Stiles would imagine Peter sees it sometimes, but Peter’s a tricky one to read and Stiles doesn’t know what kind of relationship Uncle and Nephew have outside of the office. 

“You know you don’t have to wait for me, baby boy,” Derek’s grin widens as he reaches his desk, pushes Stiles’s feet off the pile of paper and perches on the edge. Stiles grins back and hooks his hands behind his head. 

_“Excuse me…hey you…excuse me, baby boy,” Stiles stops mid step, the persistent voice behind him getting increasingly agitated until it settles with the last two words. Stiles frowns and turns, looking over the pile of paperwork in his arms to the guy the voice belongs to._

_“Baby boy?” He arches an eyebrow over one eye and the guy blushes a little but shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets._

_“Thought that would get your attention,” Derek grins a little lopsidedly, it’s a grin that practically shouts that Derek’s used to getting his own way, a grin that the owner knows is powerful and stops women in their tracks. Stiles narrows his eyes._

_“Can I help you with something?” He asks, feigning boredom and Derek steps a little closer._

_“You can help me by smiling.” There’s that grin again and Stiles rolls his eyes._

_“Lame.”_

_“Was not.” Derek grins and Stiles cant help but smile back._

_“Was too.” He says and Derek lets out a bark of laughter and holds his hand out._

_“Derek, Derek Hale.”_

_“Stiles.”_

“Hey…” Derek snaps his fingers in front of Stiles’s face. “Welcome back.” 

“Just thinking,” Stiles gets to his feet and stretches out the knots from his back. 

“About me I hope,” Derek pokes him in the stomach and Stiles lets out an indignant squeak as he glares at Derek. 

“Yes actually,” Stiles says and Derek’s eyebrows arch over his eyes. “Not like that…pervert. You ok?” Stiles asks like he expects an answer. Like he doesn’t every time the Team come back. Derek shrugs and to an outsider to could mean ‘it was ok’, but Stiles knows it means ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. 

“You wanna grab dinner?” Derek deflects and Stiles rubs a hand across the back of his neck. 

“It’s three in the morning,” he says and Derek’s egotistical grin is back on his face. 

“Ok so we can always do the other best thing to do at three in the morning.” 

“You wish. Gotta go catch up with Dad tomorrow so raincheck?” Derek nods, pats Stiles’s cheek briefly like he always does. 

“Sure…” Derek grabs his go bag, more than likely to shove the clothes in it through a wash and bring it back in tomorrow ready for the next case they have to run away to. “Dream of me.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Stiles’s forehead and Stiles curls his fingers into Derek’s t-shirt briefly, just to feel him alive and well under his hands. 

“Always.” Stiles replies and Derek laughs. “Derek?” he calls as Derek’s halfway out of the bullpen. He turns. “I love you.” Derek grins and points at Stiles, then holds up two fingers. _You too >_.

…

Stiles is pretty sure he’s not in love with Derek, despite what everyone else thinks. Derek’s his…best friend? Soulmate? One in a million love of a life time? He’s not really sure how to describe him but he’s pretty sure he’s not _in_ love with Derek. 

Their relationship, for lack of a better word, makes a lot of people raise their eyebrows, including Stiles’s dad. Which is what he’s doing right now, across the table from him over a vegetarian brunch that Stiles knocked up and shoved in front of them a few minutes earlier. This is their weekly get together. Stiles makes sure his father eats a little more than take away burgers and crap and John makes Stiles uncomfortable by asking when he and Derek are going to get together. 

“Look,” his father says around a mouthful of omelette, “I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind because lets face it, it would be weird as hell,” he pauses to swallow. 

“Much like this conversation,” Stiles mutters chasing a mushroom around his plate. 

“Just saying that you two have had a hell of a lot of hurt in your life and maybe,” John pauses for effect, taking a sip of his coffee, “you both deserve something good.” 

“Oh my God, Dad,” Stiles groans, and picks his plate up off the table, drops it into the sink and leans back against the counter, “how many times do I have to tell you?” 

“At least one more,” John grins around another mouthful of omelette and Stiles sticks his tongue out. 

“We’re…” 

“Just friends?” John finishes and Stiles sighs, rubs a hand across the back of his neck. 

“It’s not as simple as that,” he says and John nods, shrugs like it’s the end of the conversation. 

“It never is.” 

…

The brunch with his father unnerves him, John has always had foresight, always knew what Stiles was getting up to in school, what troubles he and Scott had gotten themselves in to. He always knew when Stiles was pining over someone he could never get. Like Lydia Martin. 

So his observations about Derek make Stiles uneasy as he climbs into his bed for a few blissful hours of sleep. It’s only 4 in the afternoon but Stiles is bone tired after three cases in a row. Something John had complained to Peter about on more than one occasion. ‘The best team gets the most cases’ Peter always replies, like its an honour to be working so goddamn hard. Stiles pulls the covers over his head, ignores the flashing on his phone telling him there’s a message from Derek and falls asleep with the noise of laughing children outside on the street.

...

The building is quiet when Derek wanders in, still half asleep, at 6 the following morning. Derek loves this time, just before everyone else wakes, when the office is silent except the hum of machinery and the occasion beep from phones just before the voicemails kick in. He stretches his arms over his head as he dumps his gym bag next to his desk. There’s a picture of him and Stiles at the last FBI Family Picnic pinned next to his computer. Stiles is grinning, flushed with beer and the sun, his arm thrown around Derek’s shoulder. Scott’s in the background with his hands around Allison’s face, pressing their foreheads together. Derek’s got his usual photograph face on, a hint of a smile on his lips but he’s leaning into Stiles, fingers curling into Stiles’s t-shirt at his waist. He’s always loved that picture, sure he complained when he found it pinned to his desk, but Stiles had just smiled and told him to grow up, and Derek had grumbled half-heartedly about it for weeks. It’s just them, Stiles and Derek, happy and easy and Derek can almost forget the horrors they’ve both seen as he stares at Stiles’s wide grin. 

He smiles to himself, grabs his gym bag and heads for the on site gym. 

He’s halfway through his weights when he notices a tickle at the back of his neck. He glances up at the mirrors that line the wall and sees Stiles leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his face. 

“Morning sunshine,” Stiles grins further, if that was at all possible, and shoulder pushes himself off the doorframe. Derek grunts in response and finished his set, dropping the weight to the floor with a dull thud against the pads. “I trust your dreams were pleasant and monster free,” Stiles absently fiddles with one of the pins on the leg press that keeps the weights in place and Derek raises any eyebrow at him. 

“You’re here early baby boy, couldn’t sleep?” Stiles holds up a finger like he’s discovered the secrets to the universe and Derek loves that look on his face, pure and almost innocent, filled with glee. 

“Deflecting,” he crows and Derek snorts out a laugh, “so, I deduce you didn’t sleep well yourself.” 

“Baby’s learning,” Derek mutters and Stiles curls his hand into a fist and draws it down in front of his face. 

“Yes!”

“Idiot,” Derek ruffles Stiles’s hair fondly and then pulls him close by the loops on his trousers. Because he can, they do this casual in each others space thing.

“Eww, Derek sweat,” Stiles grimaces but his hands curl around Derek’s arms and hold on, not pushing away or pulling closer, just holding. Derek ignores the spread of heat against his arms where Stiles’s palms practically burn. 

“Morning.” Derek hums and Stiles’s eyes close briefly, a slow blink before he opens them again and Derek’s hot with deep brown. 

“Hi…” 

“You didn’t reply to my message last night…everything alright?” Stiles squirms, looks down at where their chests are pressed together and a frowns flickers across his face. “Stiles.”

“Fine…everything’s fine,” Stiles pushes away, or at least tries to because Derek holds on tight. 

“You know I’m stronger than you…don’t fight…”

“We have a case,” Stiles pushes him away and straightens his t-shirt, baggy at the neck from too many washes, but its shows his collarbone perfectly, the long bump of bone so Derek doesn’t complain about it nearly as much as he should. “Round table in 10…go shower, stinky.”

It’s said in jest but there’s an underlying sense of worry around Stiles that makes Derek’s chest hurt. He frowns at the back of Stiles’s head as it disappears around the corner. 

…

 

Stiles doesn’t look up at him as he walks into the round table room. He’s got his head down, eyes fixed on the floor and he fiddles with the remote for the smart board as Erica hands out the case files. In fact, there’s a weird vibe from everyone in the team, Lydia’s trying very hard to ignore everyone, staring down at her nails. John’s got the case file open in front of him already but he glances up at Derek and gives him a sympathetic smile that makes Derek’s stomach clench. 

“Ok…what the hell?” Derek slides into the last seat, next to Isaac who fidgets and runs a hand through his curls. 

“Last night, a second family in Beacon Hills, California was locked in their home and their house set on fire,” Derek stiffens at Erica’s words. Stiles looks like he’s going to be sick but he looks up at Derek. He points his remote at the screen and clicks a button. “The Hall family was killed two nights ago then last night the Hill family,” Stiles closes his eyes and presses the button again and Derek feels like he’s going to vomit, “married 15 years, two kids, active in the local community…” there’s a vibration running through Derek’s skin, a hum, unpleasant and uncomfortable, making his skin crawl as Erica carries on, and Stiles flicks through photos of a burnt out husk of a house that looks eerily similar to his own childhood home. Derek feels bile rising up the back of his throat and pushes himself to his feet. His chair scrapes along the back, and he barely makes it to the nearest bathroom before he vomits, burning the back of his throat as his fingers curl around the edge of the sink. 

Murders of families happening in the same town Derek grew up in. Families burnt alive in the same way Derek’s was. Even the family names are similar enough that it’s not a coincidence. Kate’s face flashes before his eyes and Derek dry heaves into the sink. Every single feeling of guilt comes crashing back and Derek grips tighter at the edge of the sink, his fingers hurting, knuckles cracking, anything to ground him and keep him here, now, in the present where Kate cant hurt him again. Where Stiles...

“Hey wolf man,” he shuts off his train of thought at the softly spoken words from the doorway. Derek manages a grim smile at the nickname, his mind wandering back to then. 

_“Wolf man,” Stiles slurs, head on Derek’s shoulder, fingers playing against the skin and hair on Derek’s forearm. Derek snorts and tucks Stiles closer, dropping his lips to the top of Stiles’s head. Stiles is drunk, drunker than Derek’s ever seen him, hurting after a break up with a guy that Derek is glad to see the back of. Stiles is clingy when he’s drunk. “I like it,” he mutters and Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat, leans forward enough to tell the cab driver to pull over and leans back._

_“Come on baby boy, time to move,” he says, lifting Stiles who groans._

_“Don’t wanna…”_

_“I know,” Derek throws a couple of bills at the driver, and opens the door. He hauls Stiles out as gently as he can and winds one arm around Stiles’s waist._

_“Wanna stroke wolf man’s arms again,” Stiles hiccoughs, dissolves into hysterical giggles as Derek digs around in Stiles’s pockets for his apartment key. “Love my wolf man…loved Paul too.” He sniffs and Derek cups his hands around Stiles’s face._

_“Paul was a dick and you didn’t love him. You’re better off without him, ok?” Stiles runs his hands down Derek’s arms and nods, eye glassy and pupils wide._

_“Ok wolf man.”_

“I’m ok,” Derek cups water over his face, “I’m ok,” he says again, almost to himself and Stiles reaches out to touch him, thinks better of it and snatches his hand back. “I’m ok.” 

“Fuck it,” Stiles mutters as if to himself and steps forward, bringing Derek close to him and pulling him into one of Stiles’s bone crushing hugs. “ _We’re_ gonna get through this ok? Not you, but you and me.” Derek wraps his arms back around Stiles, drops his head to Stiles’s shoulder and breathes in, just holds on, his body shaking against guilt and loss and hurt from all those years ago. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, with arms wrapped around each other and Stiles’s fingers playing at the base of Derek’s neck, but Stiles’s skin is getting damp from Derek’s breath when he eventually pulls away. 

“I’m ok,” he says for the fourth time and Stiles makes a face like he doesn’t believe him but he’s going to get it slide this once. “Let’s get back in there.” 

“You sure? I’m sure dad will let you sit this one out, I mean…” 

“I have to do this Stiles, ok?” Stiles stares at him, a long time, silent and observing until Derek almost feels uncomfortable. 

“Ok.”


	2. Chapter 2

The jet’s engines are a welcome presence, rumbling beneath his feet as Derek wraps his hands round a mug of coffee that Isaac slides in front of him, Stiles’s voice floats through the speaks on the iPad in the middle of the small table and John squints over the top of his glasses at Derek. John had done exactly what Derek thought he would, given Derek an out. An out which Derek would never take because this is about him, no matter how much people want him to think otherwise, this whole case is about him. 

Stiles checked before they left that Kate was safe and sound and still locked up. She is, but the fact that there is someone out there doing exactly what she did doesn’t make Derek feel any better. She may as well be free. 

The chatter of the rest of the team fades into the background, John dividing up jobs as soon as they land and Derek vaguely hears his name being mentioned with Lydia’s before it fades out again and all Derek can see is Stiles’s face on the iPad. He waves, a little half-heartedly and then disappears and Derek snaps back to reality. 

They come to the conclusion, Isaac going off on a tangent about something Derek cant follow, that the unsub is probably a male, most pyromaniac’s are. Kate was an exception John points out, flinching slightly as Derek looks up at him. 

“This is a massive step up from firebug,” Lydia pipes up from the other side of the plane, her strawberry blonde hair piled expertly on her head. More than once she’s had to exert her superior strength on guys that have taken her slight frame and love of anything girly to mean she was weak. And Jackson’s death has done nothing except make her stronger. She flickers a gaze at him and then looks back at John. 

“We’ll get Stiles to look into previous offenders when we land,” John says, making a note on his phone. 

“And what’s this all about? To get Derek back to Beacon Hills? Or just some psycho who’s obsessed with Kate Argent?” Lydia asks and Isaac flinches beside Derek. It’s what Derek loves about Lydia, she’s to the point, sometimes brutally so but always honest and deep down kind. 

“Surely there are easier ways to get Derek back into town…” Scott pipes up from the other side of the plane, mug of coffee in his hands, “like…I dunno…phoning and going ‘hey Derek…fancy coming back into town?’”

Erica hides a smile behind her files and John rolls his eyes. John has known Scott for nearly as long as Stiles, and after Scott’s dad left, John became his substitute dad, just like Scott’s mom became an almost mom for Stiles. Scott’s brilliant at empathising, can put himself into the shoes of unsubs without a second thought, can separate work and private life like no one Derek’s ever seen. He does however have the occasional moment when you want to smack him upside the head. Scott shrugs innocently. 

“Somehow,” John says, pulling his glasses off his nose, “I don’t think that would have cut it.”

Deaton catches Derek’s eye across the table and raises one eyebrow. Derek nods once back at him. Deaton’s been in Derek’s life for years, helped him work through some of his issues about Kate and his family, trained Derek up and helped him get into the BAU. Stiles has on more than one occasion called Deaton Derek’s very own Yoda. Stiles thinks its hilarious. Deaton is brilliant at what he does, calm and easy with a kind face that has lured more than one unsub into a false sense of security. Derek knows later on Deaton will corner him and try to get out of him his feelings, but right now, Derek has the armour of an active case and a jet getting ready to land between him and the inquisition. 

…

Derek steps off the plane and it hit with the overwhelming sense of loss. He’s here, in his childhood town, and his family aren’t. He briefly wonders how Peter feels about this whole case, it must have passed his desk. But his uncle has been as stoic as ever, not even mentioning anything to Derek as he came to wish them good luck. Stiles had been practically vibrating with barely restrained anger next to Derek. 

He hadn’t had a chance to call Laura either and he really doesn’t want to have to do that just yet. Laura lives a few miles outside of Boston, with her husband and two kids and Derek sees them as often as he can, as often as his guilt will let him. But she does need to know what’s going on, despite the fact that this will just dredge up old wounds for her. Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he climbs into the back of the car and is driven across Beacon Hills to the police department. He almost wants Stiles to call Laura, to tell her but he knows he’ll get an angry call from Laura that way. 

Derek introduced Stiles to Laura a few years ago, and not surprisingly, they had got on like two peas in a pod. Laura is beautiful, even Derek can see that his own big sister is gorgeous, and despite the proclivities in Stiles’s sex life, he stared at her like she was Aphrodite. Laura had instantly taken to Stiles’s wide, genuine smile and Derek has, on more than one occasion, walked into Stiles’s office at work to find him on the phone with Laura. 

It’s a cop out, wanting Stiles to do his dirty work for him, he knows that, but telling Laura he’s back in Beacon Hills because someone is burning families alive is not a conversation he wants to have right now. 

His phone vibrates against his thigh. Stiles’s face glaring at him because he was pissed at Derek pointing the camera in his face looms in front of him. 

“Hey baby boy,” he answers and he hears Stiles’s sigh of relief. 

“How you doing big guy?” Stiles asks and Derek sighs, staring out of the window as the familiar streets of Beacon Hills fly past. 

“Ok,” he replies simply and Stiles snorts. There’s faint tapping in the background and Derek can practically see Stiles sitting at his desk, surrounded by screens, his headset plastered firmly to his head and fingers flying over the numerous keyboards. 

“Yeah…sure you are. You spoken to Laura yet?” 

“No…” 

“Want me to?” Derek closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes…but no.” 

It’s a testament to how well they know each that Stiles doesn’t even question his internal struggle. Because no matter how much Derek wants Stiles to call Laura, he knows he has to do it himself. Stiles sighs down the phone and Derek can imagine him running a hand across his buzzcut. His hair’s been longer before, it fluctuates between short and long and Derek cant decide which he prefers. 

“Ok,” Stiles laps into silence and Derek welcomes the gentle noise of static over the phone. They’ve done this before, back when Stiles suffered from nightmares, Stiles would call him and just lay the phone next to his head and Derek would listen to him breath for most of the night. 

It’s a few minutes before Stiles breaks the silence. 

“You want me there?” He asks and Derek has to smile to himself. “I can get Danny to hold the fort here, pack up the essentials and be with you in a few hours.” 

“I love you,” Derek replies and Stiles lets out a small laugh. 

“How could you not?” 

“You stay there, I gotta go baby boy, ok?” 

“Ok…look after yourself,” Stiles hangs up first, because he always does. Once Derek hung up first and Stiles didn’t speak to him for two days. Derek smiles at his cell and looks up as John comes into the room. 

“You ok to go to the Morgue?” John asks, leaning back against the door as a ward to anyone else who might come into their makeshift office in the Sheriff’s Department of Beacon Hills. Derek nods, stands, and shoves his cell back into his pocket. 

“No problem, Lydia coming with?” he asks and John nods. “We should probably get Stiles to look into possible suspects, check up on anyone that ever visited or wrote to Kate.” Just saying her name makes this all seem more real, the fact he’s here, people are dying and its all because he couldn’t keep his hands off a crazy person. 

“Uh-oh,” John says, “I know that look.” He points at Derek’s face. “That’s a look of guilt. None of this is your fault, you know.” 

“I know, doesn’t make it any easier to believe though.” Derek admits and John claps him on the shoulder briefly. 

“Kate who have done what she did to anyone, you just happened to be the victim. This is her fault, not yours.” 

“So we are going with the copy cat angle?” 

“It’s a possibility, I know you’re thinking it,” John nods at him and Derek sighs. 

“There are just too many coincidences, we’d be stupid not to follow it, but then again maybe I’m being blinded by my own experiences,” John frowns slightly. 

“Don’t profile yourself, Derek, you’re a great profiler, follow your gut, it usually leads you right.” 

…

The Morgue in Beacon Hills was just like any other Morgue. Cold, stainless steel, void of any identity. The ME bustles about in her scrubs, pulls open the right drawers and leaves Lydia and Derek to inspect the bodies of the Hill family. There’s nothing unusual in the reports, all members died of smoke inhalation, and Derek grimaces as he remembers his own family, lying down here in the Morgue, with Uncle Peter coming to identify all 10 bodies. 

“There’s nothing here,” Lydia says, scanning the reports and hauling Derek out of his guilt ridden past. He looks up as she tosses her hair over her shoulders, “no drugs in their systems, no ligature marks on the skin…nothing. What stopped them getting out of the house?” 

“He blocked the doors,” Derek says and Lydia frowns briefly, her perfect eyebrows drawing closer together.

“Derek…this isn’t your case ok, this isn’t the same person who did this to your family,” Lydia walks around the body of Father Hill and curls her fingers around his wrist. 

“How else do you explain the families not getting out?” Derek asks and Lydia blinks, backs off and pulls out her cell phone. 

“Hey Stiles…yeah he’s with me…can you do us a favour?” Lydia smiles at something Stiles says and Derek has the urge to grab the phone just to hear his voice. “Can you check all case of fire in the last couple of years, random dumpster fires, abandoned building fires, ones where no one was hurt…thanks babe…” Lydia hangs up and points her cell at Derek, “he wants you to call,” she says it in an off hand manner like Derek and Stiles always ask other people to pass on messages. Derek nods. “This guy didn’t start with home fires that wipe out families. He’s worked up to this, we’ll find him Derek.” 

…

“There were chains across the doors,” Isaac says as Derek and Lydia join the rest of the team. Lydia glances over at him and Derek grits his teeth. The dreams back from when his own family burned coming back to haunt him. He wasn’t there, he didn’t hear the cries, the screams, the crack as the house gave up its form and collapsed around his family. He wasn’t there but he imagined it, back all those years ago, waking up covered in sweat as Laura held him tight and cried with him. He shakes his head to rid himself of the cries of his dreams and concentrates back on Isaac. “Low grade, your average, buy in a hardware store chain, nothing we can trace. The fires were started with gasoline, poured through the letter box.” John nods as Isaac sits back down around the large table. Derek traces patterns in the dark wood top and listens to the voices around him. 

“Are we thinking he’s a normal arsonist?” Scott asks and John shrugs slightly. 

“As normal as any arsonist can be, perhaps. But there’s still the similarities between Hale, Hill and Hall, and the fact that these fires are occurring here, of all places. He more than likely stood back to watch though, that’s pretty much a certainty.” Derek feels a rush of fury at the person responsible for burning these two innocent families alive. And a rush of guilt at the same time. 

“I think someone needs to go speak to Kate Argent,” John says and the hush around the table falls to an eerie silence. Everyone looks at Derek as if asking his permission to volunteer for him. Derek looks up at John. 

“I’ll do it.” 

“No you will not,” Stiles’s voice comes from the door way, his laptop bags slung over one shoulder and a parade of local police behind him holding all his thing. He looks pissed at everyone, but more so Derek and Derek cant even get over his shock at seeing Stiles before Stiles dumps his bags on the floor and points a finger at Derek. “You will not go because that’s exactly what she wants.” 

“What the hell are you doing here Stiles?” John demands, looking tired at his son. Stiles seems to remember there are more people than just him and Derek in the room and snaps his gaze to his father. 

“Danny’s manning the office, I am here, to offer whatever support is needed, and by the looks of things, a well needed reality check. You’re going to send Derek to see the woman who killed his family?” Stiles demands and the local police officers slink away. Derek is dimly aware of the rest of the team following suit and Lydia shuts the door quietly behind them. 

“Not that I need your permission on how I run my team, Stiles, but no, I wasn’t planning on it.” 

“John, I can…” Derek starts and both Stilinski’s turn to glare at him. 

“Not alone anyway,” John finishes. “Derek…son…this may be the best opportunity we have to find out anything we can about this guy, Kate might well know him, or have some insight into what motivates him. But you take Erica with you,” Derek nods and Stiles looks like he’s about to have a stroke. “Right, now I am going to explain to the local police why my son feels the need to disobey a direct order and fly all the way over here.” John sweeps out and Derek’s left with Stiles glaring at him like he’s about 2 seconds away from launching into a tirade. Stiles takes a breath and Derek cant deny the pleasure that seeing Stiles in front of him brings. 

“Stiles…”

“Don’t you Stiles me,” Stiles says, holding up at finger again. “I’m going to be the one that has to pick up the pieces once Kate’s trampled all over your heart again,” Stiles says and Derek flinches at Stiles’s obliviousness. 

“I don’t have any feelings for Kate except anger Stiles, you know that,” Derek says, sighing slightly and wanting to pull Stiles close. Stiles wrinkles his nose and takes a step forward. 

“I worry about you,” he says and Derek manages a quick smile, nudging his knuckles against Stiles’s stomach briefly, just the ghost of a touch but it’s almost enough. Stiles is home, he’s safety and normality, structure and home all in one and Derek wants to hold him close and just forget about everything right now. “Dad’s pissed, huh?” Derek lets out a laugh and steps back. 

“You could say that,” Derek replies and Stiles grins, reaches down to his laptop cases and pulls one out. “Why are you here Stiles?” Stiles stops and looks at Derek. 

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” he says likes it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I have a whole team to lean on if I need,” Derek points out and Stiles snorts, waves a hand dismissively in the direction of where the team went. 

“Please, we both know they don’t count, wolf man,” Stiles grins and pulls out a power cable. “Do they have WiFi here?” 

“I love you baby boy,” Derek says, open and so completely honestly that it takes him by surprise. Stiles grins again. 

“Right back at ya, big guy.” 

Derek ignored the almost overwhelming desire for that statement to be true and leaves Stiles setting up his makeshift work station. 

…

Stiles stared at his screen. Danny was in his office at the BAU, tapping away down the open phone line, trying to find anybody in the past of Beacon Hills who had had trouble with the local law for fire starting. 

Stiles himself was trying to narrow down the list of people who had been to see Kate at Beacon Hills Institute for the Criminally Insane because apparently Beacon Hills had enough criminally insane residents to warrant its own Institute. Derek had only just managed to get the Director on the phone and was busy trying to get an appointment to see Kate. Stiles was worried, Derek could see that in the way his jaw twitched and he kept glancing at Derek. Derek was just content to watch Stiles’s fingers fly across the keyboard. 

“Yes, I’m still here,” he says into the phone and Stiles clears his throat, eyes back on his screen. 

“ _It’s highly unusual,_ ” the Director is saying but Stiles is making faces at him across the room and Derek’s not really paying much attention, “ _but if it’s part of an active investigation I suppose I can let you see her tomorrow._ ” 

“Much appreciated, Sir,” Derek replies, sticks his tongue out at Stiles and then concentrates back on the conversation. “The similarities between the crimes Kate committed and the ones being committed right now are too much of a coincidence to ignore,” the Director hums down the phone like he doesn’t really care as long as he gets to keep Kate behind bars. “I assure you, we will not be asking for temporary release.” 

“ _That’s good,_ ” the Director replies, “ _because it wouldn’t be granted. Kate is too much of a danger to herself, let alone other people, to be released right now._ ” 

“What would be helpful is if you could provide us with a list of visitors she’s had over the past few months,” Derek says and the Director is silent for a few minutes before replying he would get them over to Stiles as soon as he could. Derek thanks him, hangs up and rubs circles against his temples. There’s heat at the back of his neck and he leans into Stiles’s touch as Stiles’s long fingers press into tight muscles. 

“I still don’t want you going,” Stiles says and drops a kiss to the top of Derek’s head before moving away. Derek rolls his neck. 

“I know, but you’re gonna have to get used to it,” he grins up at Stiles and Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

The light is fading and orangey sunlight streams through the window. Derek feels a tension headache building behind his eyes. Stiles cocks his head to the side. 

“Ok, we’re going back to the hotel, and you’re taking a bath,” he slams the lid of his laptop and Derek jumps. 

“We’ve got work to do Stiles, this guy…” 

“This guy wanted you back here, he’s got you back here so I think you can take one off to just at least _try_ to chill out…yes?” 

“He’s right,” John comes through the door, “maybe you can skip the bubble bath and head straight of a whiskey instead, but for once, my son is right,” Stiles sticks his tongue out and shoves his laptop into the case. 

“Dibs on sharing with Derek,” he calls into the rest of the station as he walks through the door and leaves Derek with John. John shakes his head at his son and then fixes his pointed, knowing gaze back at Derek. 

“Go back to the hotel, try to get some sleep and try to remember that this isn’t your fault,” John says and Derek swallows. 

“I cant help thinking that it is, though, Boss,” he replies and John lays his hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

“It’s not.” 

…

Derek’s hands are shaking by the time Stiles pushes the door to their hotel room open. Shaking and there’s sweat beading across his forehead. Stiles pushes him to the bed and crouches between his thighs, his palms warm and grounding on Derek’s knees. 

“Derek?” Derek looks down into Stiles’s face, suddenly so painfully aware of how in love with this brilliant kid he is. How Stiles has been his ground since he can remember, how he’s so heartbreakingly in love with him that nothing else matters except Stiles. He wants to kiss him, to pull him close and run his teeth across that lower lip but his hands are shaking with anger and guilt and Stiles covers them with his own, pulls them in between them both and runs his thumbs across Derek’s knuckles. “You with me big guy?” 

Derek can hear screaming, the crackle of fire, the groan of the wooden beams as they finally give out. His breathing speeds up and Stiles, it’s always Stiles, always there when Derek cant see anything, Stiles presses his thumb to Derek’s pulse. 

“I…” he starts, his throat closing up against words, he doesn’t even know what to say anymore. He’s brought this destruction down on this town, again. He brought fire and raised hell and he shouldn’t have come home. He shakes his head. Stiles lifts a hand and cups at Derek’s face. 

“Derek…this isn’t your fault, look at me.” He demands and Derek can no longer refuse anything he asks. “This isn’t your fault. I’m right here.” He stands, keeping Derek’s hands in one of his own, long fingers wrapped around them and crawls onto the bed next to him. He tugs and Derek can no more refuse as he can stop his heart from beating right now. Stiles pulls them both down, curls himself around Derek, tight and safe and Derek feels his whole body shaking as Stiles presses a hand to the centre of his shoulders. “I’m right here.” Stiles kisses him, the hand not pressed to Derek’s tattoo sliding down his jawline. It’s just a press of lips, comfort where comforts needed and Derek wants to kiss him harder, wants to press Stiles into the mattress but his hands are shaking and he still hears screaming. “I got you.” Stiles’s lips move against his own and Derek lets out a choked sob, balling Stiles’s too-big t-shirt in his hands and he rests his head against Stiles’s shoulder and just holds on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark Silber's last name is from the German for Silver.

The first thing Stiles becomes aware of is the warmth against his back, the solid presence of someone and the hand pressed low on his belly. Stiles shifts backwards, unconsciously seeking the warmth from the body behind him and is greeted with a low rumble that vibrates through his chest. He blinks awake, eyes gritty and tired, the sun blinks in from the fluttering curtains as the light breeze from the open windows ruffles them.

Lips move against the back of his neck, and the hand against his stomach twitches. 

Last night filters back into his mind as the body behind him stirs. Derek’s shaking hands, his blank face yet eyes widened with panic. The way he looked helpless and ready to fight at the same time. How stiles hadn’t known what the hell to do except hold him. Derek mutters something, lips sliding against Stiles’s sweat damp skin and stills. 

Stiles’s own body betrays him, dick half hard from the close quarters and the warmth of a foreign body. Derek’s hand low on his belly just a finger span away from where it needs to be and Stiles grits his teeth and wills his dick to calm the fuck down. This is Derek, not some one night stand that he can wake up with kisses and a hand job, hoping it will lead to more. It’s _Derek_ , Derek who broke down on him last night. Derek who trusts Stiles more than he trusts anyone and Stiles isn’t taking advantage of that trust. 

No matter how much he wants to. 

He grits his teeth again, bites down on his tongue as that thought flitters in to his mind unbidden. _You are not in love with Derek_ , he tells himself as he manages to extract himself from Derek’s grip and slip into the poor excuse for an _en suite_ bathroom. He rests his head against the back of the door and breathes in, willing himself _not_ to put his hand down his pants and deal with his little predicament by himself. He bites on his bottom lip and splashes some water on his face, running his hands over his skin. 

Derek’s strong, self-assured and capable. Yet he’s not and Stiles knows that. He forgets sometimes but nights like last night bring it all flooding back like a tidal wave as Derek crumples under the grief and guilt he carriers around on those massive shoulders. He’s only seen it a handful of times but Derek always retreats afterwards, embarrassment that Stiles saw him like that evident on his face whilst he ignores Stiles for a few days. 

But Stiles will be damned if he lets Derek get away with that this time. He pulls open the door to the room and finds Derek halfway out of bed with one leg into his pants. 

“No you don’t,” Stiles warns and Derek freezes, looks back over his shoulder. “Get your leg out of those pants and get your ass back in bed, young man,” Stiles puts his hands on his hips and thanks whichever deity is watching that his morning wood has gone down enough that he manages to look superior. 

“I have to get…”

“No,” Stiles climbs onto the bed and wraps his arms around Derek, pulls him backwards until Stiles is lying pressed to the mattress with Derek’s head to his chest. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs and Stiles clambers out from under him and crawls on top, pressing his palms to Derek’s chest. 

“No,” he says again. “Morning, by the way.” Derek smiles, a slow genuine smile that Stiles usually only sees directed at him. 

“Morning,” there’s still a hint of embarrassment in Derek’s eyes and Stiles leans down and presses his forehead to Derek’s. 

“Did you sleep?” he asks, opening his eyes. Derek looks weird this close up, blurred and doubled but Stiles can still see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that tells Stiles he’s still smiling. Derek’s hands curls around his hips. 

“I did…” Stiles leans back, “thank you.” It’s so unusual for Derek to acknowledge anything like that, that Stiles blinks, is caught off guard at the genuine tone in his voice and Derek manages to spin them both until Stiles is staring up at him with his back to the mattress again. 

“You’re not going to ignore me for three days now are you?” Stiles asks and Derek shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Stiles can’t help but track the movement and licks his own. Derek swallows, an audible click in the now silent room and moves an inch closer. Stiles’s body flushes with heat where Derek’s touching it, his mind pushing out everything other than the absolute knowledge that Derek’s going to kiss him. He can’t move, can’t tell Derek to stop, can’t tell Derek to hurry the hell up and do it already. Derek moves even closer and there’s a hitch in his breathing as Stiles licks his lips again. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, it’s quiet but shockingly loud in the still room and Derek’s thumb moves against Stiles’s temple. “Tell me to stop Stiles,” he says and Stiles can’t. Doesn’t want to. Derek moves closer still, he’s going blurry again and Stiles wants to close his eyes and just wait for the inevitable. “Tell me.” Stiles feels the words against his lips, the brush of air from Derek’s lungs. 

“I can’t,” Stiles finds his voice although it doesn’t even sound like his anymore. Derek moves, quickly like he’s expecting Stiles to change his mind and wants to kiss him before that happens, and presses his lips to Stiles’s. They’re dry, warm, almost achingly familiar and Stiles runs his hand up Derek’s arm, grips around his bicep. Derek’s tongue runs along the seam between his lips and Stiles opens his mouth, welcomes Derek’s tongue with a groan that he pulls deep from his belly. Derek pulls away enough to scrape his teeth along Stiles’s bottom lip and then is back, with a groan of his own as Stiles shifts and gets one leg around Derek.

The angry beeping of Derek’s phone interrupts rudely and Derek wrenches his mouth away from Stiles’s, presses their foreheads together for a second before fumbling behind him for his phone. He rolls off Stiles and rakes a hand through his hair as he answers it. 

“Hale…yes…ok…we’ll be there in twenty,” Derek hangs up and runs a hand through his hair again as Stiles pushes himself up right. He crosses his legs and waits for Derek to turn back to him. “We have to get to the police station,” he says and turns and Stiles fixes his gaze on Derek’s slick lips, parted slightly as he stares back at Stiles. “Tell me you don’t regret that.” 

“Derek, I…” Stiles stars and Derek shakes his head. 

“Stiles, _please_.” Stiles leans forward and reaches his hand out to Derek, running his fingers across Derek’s cut glass cheekbones. 

“The only thing I regret is your phone ringing,” he says and Derek lets out a relieved laugh that’s halfway to a sob and turns his face into Stiles’s hand. 

“We’ve gotta go,” he mutters and Stiles nods at him. 

“I’ll just jump in the shower,” Derek grins at him and Stiles can’t help but grin back. 

“You better…you stink,” Derek replies and just like that they’re back to normal. As normal as they can be now they both know what the other tastes like. Stiles sticks his tongue out and crawls off the bed. 

“I stink of you,” he retaliates and doesn’t miss the way Derek’s gaze darkens right before he slams the bathroom door. 

…

Kate Argent looks out of her room window, the sprawling grounds of Beacon Hills Institute for the Criminally Insane laid out before her. She smiles to herself and flicks her blond hair over her shoulders as she climbs down from the window ledge and lands on the floor in a crouch. Her body yearns to run, to train, to fight but the confines of the Institute make for a less than a suitable exercise regime. 

Her smile widens when she hears the click of hospital regulation shoes coming down the hall and stopping outside her door. Her visitor is here. 

Show time. 

…

Stiles stares at Derek across the table in the Police station. John is talking and Stiles is half listening as he stares at Derek and tries to figure out if he looks any different now. Derek’s jaw twitches and he glances at Stiles like he can feel Stiles’s gaze on him. He gives Stiles half a smile and looks back at John.

“Derek’s going over to see Kate Argent this morning. Erica, I want you to go with him,” Erica nods, blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she does. Isaac frowns slightly at the files in front of him and puts his pen into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I want to know everything about every single person who has ever been to see her, or even so much as looked at her when they were there, got it?” John looks at Stiles and Stiles snaps his gaze away from Derek and nods, tapping away at a few keys on his laptop. 

“I’ll get Danny involved as well, four hands are better than two,” John nods and turns to Scott. He opens his mouth as the Sheriff knocks once and walks in. 

“Morning Sheriff,” John says and the Sheriff hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and looks uncomfortable. 

“There’s been another fire.” 

…

Derek moves around the charred wreck that used to be the Holden family home. The wreckage still smoulders a little and every now and then a drop of water falls from the blackened beams and hisses on to something hot under them. The wreckage looks the same as the other homes, twisted bits of metal, burnt bits of wood, half charred photo albums and paintings sticking out from under singed couches and armchairs. Derek rubs the bridge of his nose. The bodies have been taken to the morgue and the Fire-fighters are still milling around, the arson expert inspecting the carcass of the house for the ignition point. 

Derek didn’t miss the blackened chains coiled at the base of what used to be the front door. 

Four victims this time, Mr and Mrs Holden and their two boys. Derek feels bile rising in the back of his throat as imagined ghosts of their screams float up from the broken house. 

Derek wants to catch this guy so bad he can taste it. His phone vibrates against his thigh and Derek ignores it, knows it’ll be Stiles but he can’t talk right now, let alone give Stiles what he needs which is assurance Derek’s ok. Because he’s not. He’s so far from ok, he’s halfway around the world from it right now. The phone stills and vibrates once a few seconds later and Derek ignores it again, watching the emergency services as they pack up, going back home to their families to hug the bad away. Derek hates them in that second, hates the fact they can forget this, that it’ll fade into the myriad of horrors that they see, when this whole case will stick out like a sore thumb for Derek for the rest of his life, mingling into his own nightmares about his family as easily as if it belongs there. He balls his hands into fists at his sides and digs his nails into his palms, striding out of the ruins into the surrounding woods. 

That’s another similarity that no one seems happy to point out to Derek but he’s heard John tell Stiles to look into. All the houses back onto the Beacon Hills Nature Reserve. The one his own family home was built in the centre off. The woods Derek grew up in, the tress he ran through with Laura and Cora. The trees he climbed to hide from his dad when he broke the porch swing jumping on it. The trees move, whisper to him as the wind ruffles their leaves and Derek runs his hands through his hair and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He dials his voicemail and puts his phone to his ear. 

“ _I know you’re not ok but I would be a bad…friend…if I didn’t ask if you were ok. Are you ok big guy? Call me, I might have something…love you._ ” The last two words are said quickly, like it’s an afterthought, but Derek knows those words hold so much more weight than they did last night. He deletes the message and dials Stiles back, his hands gripping the phone tight. 

“ _Hi_ ” Stiles sounds pleased to hear from him, if a little apprehensive. Derek suppresses a smile because he can’t smile right now, not when his town is suffering because of him. 

“What have you got?” Derek asks without any foreplay. Stiles is silent for a second but sighs and continues to talk. 

“ _Mark Silber has been to see Kate six times in the last three months. The first time was just before the first fire. He has a few priors, criminal damage and the like, nothing major until he was eighteen, and then he was arrested for setting a fire under a bridge where a stray dog was sleeping._ ” Stiles pauses and draws a breath and Derek grips the phone harder, hears the brittle plastic crack under his grip. 

“Where is he now?” Derek asks, his voice hoarse and unrecognisable to his own ears. 

“ _Sending you his last known address now,_ ” his phone beeps and Derek pulls it away from his ear long enough to see the address light up his screen.

“Stiles…” He starts. 

“ _Go find him Derek, before he hurts anyone else,_ ” Stiles hangs up before Derek can say anything else. 

…

Beacon Hills Institute for the Criminally Insane is situated at the North edge of the town, set in sprawling grounds that are supposed to lend themselves to a therapeutic setting for the patients. It’s an old brick building that looks more like a country manor than a home to numerous highly dangerous individuals. 

The Director meets Derek and Erica at the door, shakes their hands and ushers them inside. The entrance hall echoes their footsteps around the marble vaulted ceiling. Isaac and Scott are off trying to find Mark Silber and Derek’s skin itches to be with them instead of here waiting to see Kate. 

_Kate smiles over her shoulder at him, sweat beating down her spine. Derek runs his fingers across her skin and she twists out of his grasps, laughing at him._

_“Where are you going?” Derek asks and Kate pulls his shirt over her shoulders, buttoning it over her breasts._

_“I have a few things to do,” she smiles again, her eyes lighting up with glee as she leans over and kisses him. Her kiss tastes like danger._

_Three hours later Derek got the call about his family and his whole world shattered._

Derek shakes his head as the Director walks out to ready Kate.

“Derek…you with us?” Erica asks and Derek nods absently. “Do you want to sit this one out?” 

“No,” he snaps and then rests hand on her arm in apology, “I need to do this E.” 

“Ok.” Erica folds her hands into her lap and stares at her nails. She looks up eventually. “If you need…anything.” 

“I know…thanks,” he smiles at her and she grins back, a flash of brilliance and Derek feels a swell of love for the girl that has become more like a sister to him. 

The Director comes back a few minutes later as Derek’s letting go of Erica’s hand. He gestures for them to follow and Derek sighs as he stands and strides out after him. 

The halls are long in the building, rooms leading off every few feet on both sides. The occasional catcall from one of the rooms is the only noise apart from their footsteps as they draw nearer to Kate. 

The Director stops and pushes the door open and Derek sees her for the first time in ten years. She looks exactly the same as she glances up from the table she’s sitting at and smiles at him. It’s the smile of someone who knows they did wrong but thinks it was right. The smile of someone who would kill you in an instant and he feels Erica draw away from behind him for a second before she presses herself close to his back and adds her silent support. 

“Derek,” Kate smiles wider, her voice sounding like she’s pleased to see him, like she was expecting him and there is no one else in the world she would rather see than him. “Someone grew up in all the right places.” She looks Derek up and down once and licks her lips. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Kate gestures at one of the spare chairs around the table and the Director sinks into the background to watch the interactions. Derek takes a step forward and sits down, leaning his forearms on the table. Kate steeples her fingers under her chin and spares Erica one glance before her cold blue eyes are back on Derek. 

“You know why I am here Kate,” Derek says and she grins and lays her hands flat against the table. 

“Do I?” She asks. “How’s Laura?” She asks suddenly, cocking her head to one side. Derek grits his teeth and stares at her. 

“Kate, we assume you’ve heard about the house fires in the town recently?” Erica interrupts, breaking Derek’s gaze from Kate’s face. Kate looks at Erica. 

“Such a shame,” she looks back at Derek, “the poor Hales…sorry, _Halls_ ,” she smiles slowly again and Derek feels his fingers clench with the desire to curl around her throat. 

“Can you tell us anything about them?” Erica asks and Kate looks at her again. 

“What could I possible tell you? I am locked up in here,” her beautiful face twists into something ugly for a second before the mask of sanity slips back and she smiles again. “I have nothing to do with them. Just a horrible coincidence.” 

“It’s not a coincidence, Kate,” Derek slams his hands against the table and everyone in the room jumps apart from Kate. She smiles like she was expecting it, like it’s what she wanted. “Who’s Mark Silber?” A flicker of recognition passes across her face before she shakes her head. 

“Can’t say I have heard of him,” she answers and Derek snorts out a bitter laugh. 

“Really Kate? He’s been to see you six times in the last three months and you’ve never heard of him.” Kate laughs suddenly, bright and clear and tinged with malice. 

“I see Stiles has been doing his job properly,” she says and Derek’s blood runs cold. 

“What do you know about Stiles?” 

“I know you see him as more than family Derek,” she leans forward and narrows her eyes at him, “I destroyed yours once I will do it again,” she hisses the words out and Derek gives into the desire and reaches across the table and curls his fingers around her throat. Her eyes widen slightly in shock but then a choke of a laugh makes its way out. “Angry? Good.” 

“Derek,” Erica’s voice is insistent like she’s said it a few times before and Derek drops Kate. 

“You see others as more than family Derek…” Kate rubs at the skin of her throat and looks at Erica. “I would watch out for them if I were you…watch out for them like you didn’t the last time.” Kate rubs salt into the guilt wounds Derek carries around with him and Erica lays hand on his arm as she steps forward. 

“If you’re making threats Kate…”

“I don’t make threats, SSA Reyes…I make promises.” Kate grins brilliantly as the porters escort Kate out. She twists in their arms, her face twisted once again with malice and pure hatred. 

“I will destroy you Derek, everything you hold dear…you hear me?” Kate’s voice echoes down the hall and the Director steps forward. 

“Happy?” He asks and Derek sweeps out of the room and down the hall before he can get his hands around his throat. The fresh air hits him as he pushes the doors open and pulls a deep breath into his lungs. His heart pounds in his ears and panic makes his hands shake as he pulls out his phone. 

Erica takes his phone from his hands, taps a few buttons and put the phone to her ear. 

“Boss…you got eyes on Stiles?” She glances at Derek and bites on her bottom lip. Her eyes close and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ok…we’re on our way.” 

“Stiles is missing.” 

And once again, because of Kate, Derek’s world comes crashing down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is still missing, Derek's going crazy but Stiles can hold his own...just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo sorry this has taken so long, I have been on vacation then catching up with work!

There’s movement across his closed eyelids, the black of a shadow passing across light and Stiles groans, his head pounds as he does. 

He flickers his eyes open, blinking quickly against the harsh lighting that swings from the ceiling. Broken flickering strip lights that would make Stiles laugh at the irony if his head didn’t hurt so much. His mouth feels dry, tongue too big in his mouth as he tries to swallow around his arid throat. His shoulder hurts where he’s been lying on it for god knows how long. He moves it tentatively, rolling it gently as much as he can, given his current position on the cold floor. He rolls over to his front, his stomach lurching at the movement. His shoulder throbs half-heartedly as he pushes himself up on all fours and reaches one hand to the back of his head. He winces as his fingers brush over sticky half dried blood and a cut that would probably need at least a few stiches. He manages to get himself sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him and he leans back against the damp wall, white spots blinking in his vision as his body gets used to being at least semi-vertical. 

He can’t remember much, talking to Derek, telling him he loved him. He groans again and drops his head into his shaking hands. They say that all the time, but the words hold a different weight now. He remembers hanging up the phone and worrying about Derek going to see Kate, how he would cope seeing the woman who destroyed his world. He remembers going out to grab some air and a breakfast run for him and his dad. Then…

Then nothing until now, until waking up in what looks like a dank basement with the back of his head bashed in. He winces again and rubs the blood from his head between his fingers till it dries and flakes off. He should be doing something other than just sitting here, he should be trying to find a way out of here. He pats his jeans, his phone is, unsurprisingly, gone.

“Worth a shot,” he says out loud and his voice bounces off the walls. 

The screech of feedback over a microphone makes him grimace and press his fingers to his temple. He glares up at where I noise came from and sees a small speaker attached to the corner of one of the walls. 

“You’re awake,” the tinny voice comes through the speaker and Stiles glares again at it. 

“You watching me sleep? How romantic,” he snarks and the voice laughs, cold and bitter and it sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine. 

“Always the joker Stiles,” the voice practically purrs, a hint of fondness wrapped around malice in its tone and Stiles narrows his eyes at the speaker. “I don’t think you’ll be laughing much longer.” It’s a threat and Stiles gets it loud and clear and clod chillingly obviously. 

“What do you want?” He asks and the voice laughs again and Stiles can practically imagine a faceless head shaking at him like he’s a little child. 

“Why Stiles, I want Derek to suffer.”

…

Derek wants to punch something. Wants to scream and hurt things, run rampage until he’s got Stiles back safely where he belongs. Erica had to slap him round the face to stop him from going back in and strangling Kate. Derek had blinked at her as she stared up at him, eyes burning with anger and worry. 

“It wont help,” she has said. 

“It would make me feel better,” Derek had replied and rubbed at his cheek. Erica had pursed her lips and her eyebrows had drawn closer together. 

“So will finding him…come on.” 

Erica had driven back to the Police Station, Derek hands had been shaking too much with fury and barely restrained panic to do anything except twist them together in from of him. 

And now Isaac is looking guilty and John looks like Derek feels, like he’s about to lose it all. Derek can feel his pain, Stiles is so much of a liability that everyone wants to look after him. It’s like he would hurt himself if he was left alone for longer than 10 minutes and Derek knows John feels the same sometimes. Derek forces a bitter laugh back down his throat and watches the security footage from the back cameras where Stiles had stepped out to grab some nourishment for him and John. 

“Come on Stiles, give me something,” Derek mutters at the grainy image of Stiles strolling across the parking lot. He ducks out of view for a second and Derek picks him back up on another tape a few seconds later, looking down the road as he goes to cross it. A hooded man walks down the sidewalk towards him and Stiles, oblivious and he checks the road again, goes down like a sack of potatoes and the man jerks his arm down at the back of Stiles’ head. The man spares a look in the cameras direction, almost like he’s taunting and picks Stiles up. Stiles isn’t bulking by any means, but even Stiles unconscious is almost too much for Derek to handle himself so the guy must be strong and he practically effortlessly hauls Stiles to his feet, pulls one of Stiles’ arms over his shoulder and heads off North down the road. Stiles’ head lolls forward and Derek feels his teeth grit in anger as he watches the man carry Stiles out of the frame and off to God knows where. 

The guy’s careful, keeps his head down as he carried Stiles like he’s a friend, hand curled around Stiles’ waist, fingers digging in against his ribs where Derek wants his hands to be. No one else’s. Derek bites his teeth together hard enough to hurt and watches as the man carrying Stiles disappears from yet another camera. He’s careful but he doesn’t notice one camera, perched high on a post overlooking a car park with cracked tarmac. Derek watches as he bundles Stiles into the back seat, almost carefully. There’s a pause when he looks down at Stiles like he’s watching Stiles. And Derek can imagine the look on Stiles’ face, almost serene as he lies still, hand probably flung up above his head, fingers curled towards his palm. The guy pulls off his hood and climbs into the front seat and Derek wants to rip him limb from limb just for daring to touch Stiles. He’s pretty sure he’d burn the world to the ground to get Stiles back, and he’s happily curl his hands around this guy’s throat and watch the life drain from his eyes if he gets the chance. The thought scares him, even as he heart picks up pace inside his ribcage, thumping against bone as he squeezes his hands into fists, how far he’d go to protect Stiles. But then Stiles is worth so much more than Derek’s revenge fuelled destruction. The car peels out of the car park, and into the traffic but Derek manages to pause the screen and zoom in on the licence plate. He grins slowly, an evil twist of his lips as he jots down the number. 

“Got you.” 

…

“One question,” Stiles asks once the small cup of water has been slid under the gap in the door and he’s managed to stop himself from swallowing it in one gulp. 

“What?” The voice comes through the door this time, not through the speaker and Stiles wants to know who he’s dealing with, wants to be able to see through the door right into the guy’s eyes. 

“Why?” Stiles asks and there’s a small chuckle from the other side of the door, the rustle of clothing and Stiles sees feet through the gap and the guy sinks to the floor, crosses his legs like he’s about to tell Stiles a story and his fingers appear in the gap briefly almost like he’s feeling out for Stiles. Stiles backs away slightly, taking another sip of water to wet his arid throat. His head still throbs and he wonders briefly how long he’s been here, and what his dad is doing. He wonders if Derek knows he’s missing yet and if he’s angry or eerily calm as he tries to find Stiles. Because there is no doubt in Stiles’ mind Derek will come for him. Derek will turn this world upside down to find Stiles because that’s what Derek does. That’s what they mean to each other and if Stiles didn’t realise before how in love he is with Derek, he realises it as his throat closes over and he closes his eyes against the sting of tears that thinking of Derek brings. 

“Because she wants me to make him suffer,” The voice says and Stiles blinks, presses his hand to the cold metal of the door and leans forward.

“Kate?” Stiles can hear the trepidation in his own voice and he swallows against the rising panic. 

“He put her away,” the voice says and Stiles feels indignation replacing the panic. 

“She burned his entire family,” He counters and the crossed legs uncross and the guy behind the door stands. Something bangs against the door and Stiles scrambles backwards. 

“She had a reason to,” the voice says, angry and defensive and Stiles wonders briefly if he’s just signed his own death warrant. 

“Because Derek’s family were werewolves?” Stiles asks, despite his better judgement, snorting out the words with incredulity. 

“They were evil,” The voice replies, “they deserved it.” 

“No one deserves that,” Stiles replies and the guy bangs on the door again. 

“I’m not afraid to hurt you Stiles,” he says and Stiles swallows again, “I have permission to.” 

Stiles blinks and despite his fear he sees an opening. 

“You need her permission?” He asks and the guy is silent. “You need her permission to hurt me?” Stiles asks again, pushing gently, “when you’re the one that managed to get me here, you have to have permission to do anything?” 

“And?” The guy asks and Stiles hears a shuffling behind the door. He takes a step towards it. 

“Doesn’t seem right, is all,” Stiles replies, “You’re the one with the power here,” he says and there’s a metallic clink of keys from behind the door. Stiles knows he’s treading on unsteady ground here. This could work out how he wants, the guy could crumple and break under the realisation that he’s being used. Or use that understanding to reassert his power and it could backfire on Stiles. Stiles swallows and takes a step back away from the door and the key enters the locks and turns with a rusted squeak. The door swings open slowly, protesting loudly on its hinges and Stiles swallows the lump of dread in his throat. The light from the hallway darkens the man’s face but Stiles’ minds grabs at the name he found before this, Mark Silber and as the man takes a step into the room, Marks face comes into view. 

“Hi Mark,” Stiles manages to say, his voice breaking slightly, quivering with fear. Mark smiles slowly, the keys dangling from his fingers. If Mark is surprised that Stiles knows who he is, he doesn’t show it on his face as he steps forward. 

“Say it again,” Mark says and through his panic clouded mind Stiles gets what he wants. He swallows around his suddenly dry throat. 

“You’re the one with the power.” Mark nods. 

“You’re so right.” 

...

“I don’t care Danny…find him,” Derek snaps into the phone and drops it back onto the table in a rage. His blood pumping through his veins. It’s not Danny’s fault that he can’t find Silber. They managed to trace the licence plate, and it had come back to Silber and Danny had been trying to trace the bastard ever since. Trying to find any property that the man might have, anywhere he might be holed up with Stiles, any reason in his background to suggest he would want to hurt Stiles. Anything that might lead them to Stiles. 

But the lack of Stiles, the lack of his smiling face, hell even his irritating way of getting under Derek’s skin is grating on Derek. He feels cold where Stiles had been pressed the night before, his skin warm and solid next to him, grounding him and bringing him back from the near panic attack that settled over Derek. He remembers Stiles’ wide eyes searching his face, Stiles’ hands pressed to his thighs. He shakes his head, rubbing his palms down his thighs. 

With Stiles being taken, the Team haven’t had a chance to give their Profile to the Local Police like they usually do. There just seems no need when they know who’s got Stiles. But John is insisting on it. “At least they know what kind of person they’re dealing with if they come across him first,” he had said when Derek had said the Profile was a waste of time. He’d said it in that tone of voice that broaches no argument, which makes Derek nod and mutter “yes Sir.” He grits his teeth as he hears the Police behind his sanctuary of the closed door, shuffling around getting ready to hear whatever John feels they need to hear and he sighs loudly. He wants to run, to work out, to punch something until his knuckles bleed and his arms ache. He wants Stiles back under his watchful eye, or his hands. 

He feels so fucking helpless and if there’s one thing Derek hates feeling it’s helpless. 

…

Stiles chokes, spits up a mouthful of blood. It hits the floor with a sickening splat and Stiles groans, tenses his middle for another punch. 

Mark hadn’t taken Stiles’ comments well, asserting his power over Stiles the best way he knew how, with violence and Stiles’ eye socket felt like it might be broken. It throbs with each beat of his heart and Stiles feels something hard connect with his ribs again. He’s pretty sure at least one of those is broken as well. 

“She will be so proud of me,” Mark says, leaning down and curling his fingers under Stiles’ chin. He lifts Stiles’ face to his and through the haze of pain Stiles can see the sick twist to Mark’s smile. “She always said I lacked initiative…but look at me now,” to emphasise his point Mark drops Stiles’ face so sharply that Stiles falls back to the ground. His shoulder aches, his chest hurts, there’s a bit of his own tooth on his tongue, and his closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of Derek’s body against his own as Mark aims another kick to his kidneys. 

…

“It’s a waste of time, John…we could be out there trying to find him…instead…” 

“Instead,” John interrupts and Derek snaps his mouth closed. John’s got a dangerous look in his eye, glinting anger and worry under his normal placid appearance. “We’re here. Any one of these Officers could know Silber, or know where he works, or where he lives. It’s worth a shot Derek.” 

“Of course it is but just let me go, I’ve got Danny searching for properties that Silber might own…John let me find him, let me find Stiles.” There’s pleading in his own voice, Derek can hear it and John’s eyes flash with barely concealed anger as he takes a step towards Derek. 

“Don’t you act like I don’t want to find him, he’s my son.” 

“I didn’t…Sir,” Derek drops his head and he hears John sigh. He looks up to find John pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Get in there, deliver the profile, and then go find my son. You find him, you bring him back here ok?” 

“Yes Sir.” 

…

“I don’t really want to hurt you Stiles,” Mark’s fingers find their way under Stiles’ chin again. He lifts his gaze to Mark’s worried face. “It’s Derek I want to hurt, not you.” 

“Well stop then,” Stiles’ voice cracks through his dry throat and Mark’s face wrinkles in concern. He reaches off to the side and holds a glass of water up to Stiles’ lip. Stiles gulps at the water messily, drops sliding down his chin. Mark runs a finger across his skin, catches a drop and brings it up to his lips. Stiles’ stomach drops and twists. 

“She wants Derek to hurt, Stiles, I can’t stop.” He sounds regretful. 

“Does she want me dead?” 

“Not quite,” Mark turns Stiles’ face in his grip, inspects the probably broken eye socket with surprisingly gentle fingers. 

“You know Derek’s on his way?” Stiles says and Mark nods, a grin twisting his lips as he lets Stiles go and stands, reaching into the back of his jeans and pulling out a small, military grade combat knife. 

“I’m counting on it.” 

…

“Danny, for God’s sake give me something,” Derek demands into the phone. It had vibrated next to his thigh as John had been delivering the Profile to the slightly bored faces of the local Police. He had excused himself and found Danny’s name flashing up on his screen. 

“He’s dad owns a property just out of town, lots of outbuildings, lots of space and on the plans it shows an extensive shelter built into the basement.” Danny’s voice filters through the speaker on his phone and Derek grips the phone tighter. 

“And?” 

“Thing is, his dad’s been dead for 5 years. The property is still in his name.” Danny sounds a little pleased with himself and Derek almost wishes he could give him the praise he wants but he’s too busy wondering what it will feel like to choke the life out of Mark Silber for taking Stiles from him. “Address should be on your PDA right now.” 

He spares Danny a quick “Thanks Danny,” before hanging up and knocking on the window of the conference room where John has handed over the ropes to Isaac. John glances up and obviously taking one look at Derek’s face is enough to make him bolt from the room. 

“There’s a property in Silber’s father’s name on the outskirts of town, lots of space, no near neighbours,” Derek says and John cant not see the spark of hope in John’s eyes. 

“Let’s go get him.” 

…

“What are you doing with the knife Mark?” Stiles asks, crawling backwards away from him as fast as his bruised body will let him. Mark looks at him, sympathy and pain showing on his face and to the untrained eye, it almost looks genuine. But Stiles has seen the manic glint in his eye, has seen the way his mouth twists when he hits Stiles so Stiles knows it forced. 

“I have to destroy things Derek loves,” he says, the knife catching the light and throwing a shaft of light across the wall. 

“Derek doesn’t love me,” Stiles tries and Mark laughs, cold and bitter and it makes Stiles shudder. Stiles’ back hits the dank wall and he pushes as far back into it as he can. 

“Stiles…I have watched you all for a long time. Derek loves you. And because of that…” he kneels down in front of Stiles and presses the tip of his index finger to the knife point, “I have to destroy the face he loves.” 

“I hate to tell you Mark, but Derek doesn’t love me, especially not my face, I mean have you seen it?” Stiles gestures weakly to his swollen face and through his one good eye he sees Mark cock his head to the side. “This is a face that only a father could love and even then its hard for him.” He laughs lightly, forcing the noise up through his throat and Mark shakes his head. 

“He looks at you like I’ve never seen anyone look at anyone before. It’s how I wish Kate would look at me sometimes. Like you’re his whole world,” Mark sounds almost wistful, faraway and Stiles _almost_ feels sorry for him. “I have to take that away from him,” Mark says suddenly, gaze snapping back to hard. “Don’t you understand?” 

“Not really,” Stiles shakes his head, it throbs as he moves and Mark leans forward and touches his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says and Stiles takes the opportunity to throw himself at Mark. He pushes off the wall, lands awkwardly on Mark and Mark lets out a surprised and angry huff of air as Stiles lifts his arm and slams his fist into Mark’s face. It’s weak, not as hard as he’d like, it’s slightly wide but hits Mark’s cheekbone. Pain flashes up Stiles’ arm but he does it again and Mark howls in anger and pain. Stiles knows he doesn’t have long here, he can feel his adrenaline flagging already and Mark is still fighting fit but Stiles has got surprise on his hands, and desperation so he wraps his hands around Mark’s throat and squeezes. 

…

Derek can feel adrenaline pumping around his veins, his leg jumping, toes tapping, as they approach the wasteland that they _hope_ Mark Silber calls home. It’s a sprawling farm, or what was a farm, outbuildings dotted around now arid land. Nothing more than a dust bowl and as Isaac pulls the car in through the gateway, Derek’s out of it before its almost come to a stop. His feet land on the dust and it crunches under his feet. John’s out almost as soon as he is and they both order people around, both wanting to find Stiles as soon as they can. There’s a hint of worry in Derek though, of what they might find when they do find him. Will Stiles be alright? 

_He_ has _to be alright._

John points at him and Derek runs off with him, towards one of the large, run down barns. It’s holds nothing, Derek knows that, but he also knows that he’s not about to argue with the father of a missing kid, no matter how much he wants to. 

“The basement of the house,” Derek says and John nods, runs off towards the beaten up house. They take each room quickly and efficiently, like the team they are and head towards the hallway outside the kitchen where Danny told them the basement access was. John inches the door open and Derek heads down the stairs, taking each one quickly but quietly. 

The basement’s a maze of corridors, old rooms filled with boxes full of god knows what in each one but Derek gets the feeling they’re getting close. 

As if on cue, they both hear the muffled noises of a fight, a howl of pain that Derek knows isn’t Stiles’s and he’s off before John can stop him. 

“Stiles!” 

There’s too many doors, too many possibilities and Derek howls in anger as yet another door gives beneath his weight only to have nothing behind it. 

“Stiles!” 

Derek shoulders the door, practically falls through it and its like the world goes in slow motion. Stiles is there, straddled over a prone figure, there’s tension in his shoulders and blood on his shirt, it curls down his arm in one long line. The person he’s sitting on is still except for one twitch in his leg and Stiles leans back as Derek gets to him, knees hitting the floor hard and his hands come up to cradles Stiles’s face between them before he sees the gash running down Stiles’s cheek. He drops his hands to Stiles’s shoulders. 

“Stiles,” he goes for soft, totally contrary to the need flowing through his veins to pull Stiles close and shake him till his teeth rattle. “Stiles…you with me?” Stiles looks up at him then, one eye swollen shut, blood oozing slowly out of the cut on his cheek. His good eye is faraway but he blinks and it focuses on Derek. Stiles’s hands curl around Derek’s wrists. 

“I’m with you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to deal with his guilt as Stiles tries to deal with his injuries and his own guilt.

Mark Silber didn’t die. 

_More’s the pity_ , Derek thinks as he watches his chest mechanically rise and fall from behind the glass in the hospital. 

Stiles is down the hall, skin pale with a grey tone that makes Derek want to wrap his hands around Silber’s throat and finish the job Stiles started.

 _I’m with you._

Stiles’s voice had been distant back at Silber’s place, hoarse and scared and Derek never wants to hear that tone of voice again. Stiles had curled his fingers into Derek’s shirt and not let go until they were prised off him by doctors fawning at him. Stiles never liked being crowded, doesn’t like being made a fuss of. Derek had wanted to shout at them, keep Stiles with him and patch him up himself. He wants to be there now, watching over Stiles, staring at the cut down his cheek willing the skin to knit together, to heal, to not scar even though he knows it will. 

The scars on the inside will be worse though, Derek knows that, knows they will have to navigate through them with trepidation, but Derek also knows that no matter what Stiles says, they will navigate together. 

Derek had a taste of not having Stiles in his life. He doesn’t like it. 

…

Stiles is floating. It’s dark, safe, there’s no Mark, no knives glinting in the semi darkness, no dank walls and thoughts that he might not see his dad again. Or Derek.

 _Derek_. 

Derek had been there, Stiles can remember feeling his hands on his shoulders, grounding him as Stiles wound his fingers around Derek’s wrists. He can still remember those fingers wrapped around Mark’s throat.

He’s floating, but the sounds of the hospital are faint in the background of the black, a faint beeping, the quiet murmur of people and Stiles struggles against his own desire to stay where he is and his body’s desire to wake. 

“Stiles?” It’s his dad’s voice, concerned like Stiles hasn’t heard it for a long time. Stiles blinks against the bright lights. “Turn the lights down,” his dad says in his FBI voice, authoritative and it’s instantly obeyed, the lights dimming to a brightness where Stiles can open his eyes. John swims in his vision, gradually clears and Stiles never wants to see his dad look like this again. 

“Dad,” Stiles tries, his voice is hoarse, and John reaches for the glass of water next to his bed, a straw rests against his bottom lip and Stiles takes a sip, cool water soothing his throat. 

“Hey,” John says, putting the water back on the table and patting Stiles’s hand delicately. They don’t do this, this touching like this and Stiles wants to turn his hand over and curl his fingers together with his father’s, just hold on for a while whilst his body gets used to being awake. “How you feeling?” John asks and then makes a face that Stiles wants to laugh at. “Stupid question…” 

“Fine,” Stiles says, curling his fingers briefly and weakly around his father’s before letting go before either of them get awkward. 

“I want to ask you what you remember but I’m not going to yet, you need to rest,” John stands and straightens out his FBI jacket. He looks tired and Stiles wants to berate him for not taking care of himself but he knows it will fall flat when Stiles is lying in a hospital bed. 

“Just woke up,” Stiles manages and his dad lets out a small laugh and reaches down to run his hand over Stiles’s head. 

“It’s ok, kiddo.” 

“Derek?” Stiles asks as John opens the door. A blast of hospital noise reaches Stiles and he wants to wince at it, to block the noise out. 

“I’ll go get him.” It sounds like placating, but Stiles doesn’t care right now, he just needs to hear that Derek is here. That’s all he needs. 

Derek’s worried face is in his mind as he drifts back to sleep. 

…

“Why does he get help?” Derek hears himself ask as John slides into the space next to him. Derek’s eyes are fixed on Mark’s prone figure, the dark purple bruises forming around his throat and if he squints, Derek can see the way they match Stiles’s hands perfectly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees John open his mouth to reply. “He doesn’t deserve it.” 

“No,” John says, after a moment of silence. “He doesn’t. But we don’t get to make that decision.” 

“I know,” Derek runs his hands over his face and looks at John for the first time since they rescued Stiles. He looks tired, and suddenly he looks his age. 

“Stiles was awake. Asking for you. I told him you were here, but he’s asleep again,” John looks down at his empty palm like he’s expecting something to be there. He curls his fingers inwards and clenches his hand to a fist. 

“Is he…” Derek trails off because of course he’s not ok. John shakes his head gently. 

“He’s alive.” John stands and looks down at Derek. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two…” he holds his hand up as Derek goes to say something, “and frankly I don’t care. I’m not going to give you the ‘not in work’ speech. As long as you’re both happy and you don’t let it interfere…” he lets that bit hanging and Derek nods, swallows and looks up at him. 

“I don’t know either, to be honest,” Derek admits and John nods, claps a hand on his shoulder briefly. 

“I believe that whatever is between you two helped save him, Derek,” John smiles ruefully, “do I need to give you the ‘hurt him and I kill you’ speech?” 

Derek shakes his head and lets out a small laugh as he says “no,” quietly. 

“You should get some rest,” is John’s parting comment as he walks away.

…

The room is quiet when Stiles opens his eyes again, head thick and throat dry, cheek throbbing from the cut and the broken cheekbone. Only the quiet beeping from the machines breaks the silence. He lifts his shaking hand to the bandage on his cheek, fingers across the almost coarse material. 

“Leave it,” Derek’s voice comes through the silence and Stiles jumps slightly, searches into the shadows in the corner of the room to see him sitting on a hard chair facing the bed. His hands are clamped around the arms, one ankle resting on the other knee. He rises stiffly, wincing as he pops his back and walks over to Stiles’s bed. Stiles wants to smile at him, wants to kiss him, to curl up with Derek pressed to his back, comforting heat seeping in through his skin and warming him from the inside out. He blindly gropes for Derek’s hand instead and Derek just runs his fingers across Stiles’s knuckles before shoving his hands into his pockets and Stiles wants to cry suddenly. 

“Hi,” he tries and a flicker of a smile crosses Derek’s lips briefly. 

“I don’t know if anyone has told you, but Silber’s alive,” the look on Derek’s face tells Stiles he didn’t want to say that but he felt he needed to, to allay Stiles’s worry perhaps. Stiles shakes his head for lack of a better response. “We’ve got enough to process him once he wakes up. He’ll go away Stiles. And Kate, she’ll get her visitors privileges taken away, we can’t punish her anymore but she’ll…” 

“Stop,” Stiles mutters, pressing his fingers to his forehead and Derek bites on his bottom lip. “Just…”

“Stiles,” Derek’s still not looking at him and Stiles wants to scream at him. 

“Look at me,” he regrets it almost immediately when sympathy swims across Derek’s face as he lifts his gaze to Stiles’s eyes. “Is it really that bad?” Derek closes his eyes. 

“It’ll heal,” Derek says in response and Stiles scoffs, his head pounding softly behind his eyes. 

“Talk to me,” Stiles can’t keep the hint of pleading out of his tone and he reaches for Derek again, fingers curling slowly inwards as Derek doesn’t move and Stiles lets his hand drop back to the bed. 

“I need to get back to the station.” Derek drops his head and toes at an imaginary scuff on the floor. 

“Of course you do,” Stiles hears himself say and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Derek walk away from him. 

…

“What is wrong with you?” Lydia asks as she hands Derek another coffee. He wraps his hands around the mug and tries to remember how many he’s drunk today. He frowns up at her as her words slowly register. 

“What?” 

“Why aren’t you with Stiles?” Lydia asks, sitting down across the table from him, Isaac looks up from his pile of papers but doesn’t say anything and Scott’s on the phone with Allison in the corner of room. He doesn’t even flinch. Erica is off dealing with the Press, her pretty face and easy smile the best weapon against the vultures of the press. 

“Lyds,” Derek starts and she holds up a perfectly manicured finger and Derek often wonders how she keeps them so immaculate. 

“Don’t ‘Lyds’ me, why aren’t you with him?” She arches an eyebrow over one green eye and Derek wants to squirm. Isaac clears his throat and looks back down at his papers. None of them are eager to leave, as Stiles is still in the hospital. The local Police have given them free reign of the station and with paper work still to do, it’s the easy solution to stay until Stiles can at least travel without it being detrimental to his health. 

“He needs rest,” Derek hears himself say, pathetically and even Isaac snorts at that. Derek glares at him and Isaac pointedly ignores him, head seemingly buried in his papers. 

“Bullshit,” Lydia spits out and Derek frowns slightly. “He needs you, you big idiot. God, sometimes I swear it’s like dealing with babies,” she sighs heavily and dramatically. 

“I don’t know how to help him,” Derek admits and Lydia’s expression melts sympathetically and she reaches out to place a small hand over his. 

“You know exactly what to do Derek, you’ve done it before with so many victims,” she says and Derek shakes his head. 

“Stiles isn’t a victim,” he replies and Lydia nods. 

“He was…and he needs you to help him not be one anymore.” Derek feels guilt bloom through his chest, the ugly taste of it at the back of his throat and he wants to vomit, wants to run until his legs and chest burn, until he remembers nothing except the feel of Stiles alive and whole under his hands. 

“I keep seeing him broken,” he admits quietly and Isaac flinches in his peripheral vision but doesn’t say anything. Lydia nods again, as if forcing Derek to continue. “I look at him and I see him hurt and bleeding and it’s my fault,” he finishes helplessly. Lydia frowns and squeezes his hand. 

“It’s not your fault,” she says and Derek shakes his head. 

“He came here because of me, because he was worried about me, all of this Lyds, all of it is my fault.”

“Stop it,” Lydia raises her voice enough that Scott looks up from his phone call and Isaac looks up from his papers. “Stop it,” she says again, quieter this time. “Don’t do this to yourself, Derek. Don’t take all the blame like you always do. Focus on Stiles because he’s the priority here, not your own sense of guilt. So pull yourself together and do what you have to do to help him.” She finishes, leaning back in her chair and glaring at Derek. 

“How are you always right?” he asks trying to lighten the mood and Lydia shrugs, flicks her hair over her shoulder and takes a sip of her coffee. 

“It’s a gift,” she smiles and Derek feels almost lighter suddenly.

…

Stiles is awake and up when Derek goes to see him late the next afternoon. He’s movements are shaky, stiff from being confined to bed for days and his colour is slowly returning. There’s a bruise of livid purple and red across his cheekbone, curling up around his eye and over the bridge of his nose. Luckily the break to his eye socket wasn’t bad enough to warrant surgery but it no doubt hurts like a bitch and Derek winces as he watches him through the glass. The cut on his cheek has been left uncovered and it’s an angry red line down his face. It’s deep and even from here Derek can see the stitches marching down his skin. It’ll scar but Derek knows it wont take anything away from Stiles’s looks. As if he can feel Derek’s thoughts, Stiles touches it gingerly with his finger tips and a look of disgust crosses his face as his fingers trail down from nearly at the corner of his eye to his jawline. Mercifully, it’s neat enough that it hasn’t pulled at the adjacent skin and the line of his face is still as heartbreakingly perfect as Derek thought it was before. Only now it wears the marks of proof that Stiles survived. 

He knocks gently on the window and Stiles jumps, but turns and graces Derek with a tight smile as he sits back on the edge of his bed. Derek pushes the door open and is hit with the smell of antiseptic but underneath it there’s _Stiles_. 

“They say we can get out of here today,” he says, going for something neutral and Derek wants to pull him close. He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. 

“I know, I spoke to…” he trails off, the nurse’s name escaping him. Stiles lets out a knowing laugh and shifts his IV stand. The wheels squeak slightly. 

“Barbara,” he offers and Derek nods. “Not what I wanted in a nurse, but…” he shrugs and presses his hands to his broken ribs. Derek steps up to him, stands in front and Stiles looks up at him. “I missed you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says and reaches out, touches Stiles, cups his hand around his good cheek and Stiles presses his cheek to Derek’s palm. 

“You don’t get to feel guilty, ok? You don’t get to do your Soul Wolf thing and go all broody, you dick,” Stiles smiles slightly but there’s a heat behind his words that makes Derek smile despite the vehemence. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again and reaches his other hand down to run through Stiles’s hair. 

“This is the first time you’ve touched me since,” he says and Derek feels the delicate bone of Stiles’s skull beneath his fingers tips and he’s all too aware of how little pressure it would take to break them. He wants to drag his hands away but he keeps them pressed to Stiles and leans down and presses their foreheads together. 

“I’m sorry,” he says one more time and Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s wrists. 

“It’s ok,” Stiles presses his fingers to the veins in Derek’s wrists, presses them in like he’s trying to feel Derek’s pulse. Derek lets out a shaky breath and Stiles steals it as he breathes in. 

“It’s not…I…” 

“Hey,” Stiles soothes and Derek wonders when this became about Stiles soothing Derek. He curls his fingers into Stiles’s hair and breathes in. There’s Stiles under the scent of medication, hospitals and the crude soap they use here, the earthy, real scent of Stiles, the one Derek woke up to embedded in his pillow only a few mornings ago. “I’m ok…scarred a little, but I’m ok.” His self-depreciating laugh makes Derek smiles and he pulls back from Stiles, standing straight and moving to sit on the bed next to him. 

“Chicks dig scars,” he says and Stiles nudges his shoulder into Derek’s. 

“It’s not chicks I’m trying to impress.” Derek lifts Stiles’s hand from his knee and turns it over, palm upwards and trails the tip of his index finger across the lines. Up the curving Life Line from the bottom centre, across the Head Line where it pauses briefly then draws back across the Heart Line, following it along where it curls up between his index and middle finger, then traces over the numerous branches from the Fate Line. 

“I’m suitably impressed,” Derek mutters, turning Stiles’s hand back around and running his finger over the small bruise from the IV. “I have to go and see Kate.” 

“I thought you might,” Stiles replies, turning his hand back over and curling his fingers around Derek’s index finger. “I don’t want you to.” 

“I didn’t think you would,” Derek says, curling his hand around as much as he can with Stiles’s hand clamped around his index finger and covering Stiles’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“When are you going?” Stiles asks and Derek pulls his finger out from Stiles’s practically vice like grip. He runs his hand over the back of Stiles’s head once and leans forward to press a kiss to his temple. 

“Now,” he says it right against the skin and he can feel Stiles’s pulse beat against his lips. 

“And then we’re getting out of here and going home?” Stiles sounds childishly hopeful that Derek smiles. 

“Yeah, we’re going home.” 

…

“I should be there with him,” Stiles says, trying to shove his feet into his sneakers. It hurts to move that way so John sighs and sinks to his knees to shoe the sneakers on instead. Stiles grimaces but allows his dad to do this for him, at least for the time being. The cut on his cheek throbs and Stiles knows he looks like a mess right now with bruises still plain across the bridge of his nose and along his cheekbone. That hurts too, like a bitch, but if Stiles thinks hard enough he can almost imagine the bone knitting together so slowly under his skin and it fascinates him enough that it distracts from the pain for a while. His ribs only hurt when he breathes. But at least he’s alive. 

“No,” John says, standing with a groan that wouldn’t sound out of a place on a man of 95. “You shouldn’t. What on earth do you think you would achieve by being there?” 

“Something,” Stiles grumbles childishly and John raises an eyebrow at him as he bunches his sweater together and holds the head hole open for Stiles. Stiles glares at it. “Really? You have to dress me now as well?” 

“Unless you want to do it yourself with those broken ribs,” John says and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him but John just advances with the sweater. He manages to get it over Stiles’s head, and then it’s just a matter of getting the arms in. It hurts, of course it does, but it’s a hell of a lot better than doing it by himself, if slightly more embarrassing. John holds up Stiles’s coat and Stiles groans. 

“Urgh…kill me.” 

“He nearly did,” John says quietly and Stiles instantly feels guilty. “Allow your dad some indulgence…I almost lost you,” John looks up at him and Stiles wants to smack himself. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as John bunches up one arm and holds it out. Stiles puts his hand through it and John glances up. 

“Thing is,” John says almost conversationally as he bunches up the other arm and holds it out. Stiles eases his arm through the hole then pushes himself up from the bed, grunting with pain as his body protests. John pulls the jacket over his shoulders, leaves Stiles to fasten the zip. “You never stop worrying. Never. I guess one day you’ll realise that.” 

“And it’s worse with a kid like me right?” Stiles asks, grinning briefly and John smiles and pulls Stiles into a gentle, brief hug. 

“The worst.” 

…

“You don’t have to do this,” Scott says and he pulls the SUV into the car park outside Beacon Hills Institute for the Criminally Insane. The building looks as mundane as when Derek last saw it but he knows what evil lurks inside it. He frowns at the front door. 

“Yes I do,” he says and Scott leans across and touches his shoulder. Scott is Stiles’s best friend, his oldest friend but him and Derek haven’t ever really been anything more than great colleagues. They’re a great team, but not much more than that outside the office. 

“He’s my best friend,” Scott says and it’s not a warning, not a claim to Stiles like it could be, Derek gets what Scott is trying to say. “I can do it.” 

“She killed my family Scott, and she nearly killed my…” Derek trails off and Scott cocks his head to the side. 

“Your what?” 

“Stiles, she nearly killed Stiles,” Scott sighs gently like he was expecting another answer but he nods and lets his hand fall from Derek’s shoulder. 

“Ok…let’s go then.” 

…

“Where’s Derek and Scott?” Stiles is seconded on the couch of the Jet, Isaac and Lydia next to him on either side. He’s been instructed not to move under any circumstances and to ask Lydia when he needs the bathroom. She grins at him, all teeth and tiny immaculate danger and he sits and keeps he wills his bladder to control itself. 

John looks up from his papers, “they’re catching the next commercial flight down,” he says and Stiles feels himself stiffen. 

“Why?” 

“They’re talking to Kate,” Isaac offers and Stiles feels his stomach churn with worry. He wants to argue, wants to shout at his dad for not telling him, and for not waiting. He wants to be there when Derek gets out, he wants to hug Derek. He wants Derek to help him forget he nearly strangled a man to death a few days ago. He keeps seeing Mark’s surprised eyes bulging slightly when he shuts his own eyes and he knows Derek can make that go away. More importantly, he doesn’t want Derek to be alone doing this. 

“Scott’s with him,” Lydia pats his knee as if she can read his mind and to be honest Stiles wouldn’t put it past her. He tries to get as comfortable as he can given the pain in his ribs. Lydia rests her head on his shoulder briefly and he’s grateful for her comfort. 

“I know…I just…” He tries lamely to explain and she nods, pats his knee again. 

“That fact that you two are so hopelessly in love with each other should be cute but the fact that you can’t tell each other is just pathetic,” Lydia says whilst inspecting her nails. Isaac chokes but doesn’t look up from his book and Stiles feels his jaw hit the floor. 

“What?” 

“Oh my God, Stiles, do I really have to spell it out to you?” She asks, pushing herself upright and straightening out her dress. John chokes down a laugh from the other side of the plane and Stiles feels his cheeks flame. He glares up at her. “What? Everyone knows, except obviously the two of you.” She huffs and strolls off on impossibly high heels to the on board kitchen. 

Stiles glares at the floor ignoring the bloom of pain in his chest and the realisation knotting his stomach. 

…

Kate looks pleased with herself. It’s a normal look on her face, Derek’s come to realise, but now, knowing what he does about her, Derek hates it even more and can see the twisted malice behind it. 

“Derek,” she welcomes graciously. “I thought I was having my visitation privileges revoked?” Derek sits down in front of her, Scott to his left and he crosses his arms over his chest. Kate looks at him, to an outsider her expression would be blank, awaiting something to react to but to Derek it’s calculating. “How’s Stiles?” Scott shifts on his left and Derek continues to stare at her. She stares back. Derek wants to kill her, he wants to feel the life seep out of her, watch her eyes go dull. And he promises himself, as he watches her across the table, that if she ever escapes this place, he will do that. The clock on the wall ticks loudly whilst they study each other, seconds then minutes pass and he feels Scott get restless next to him. Kate’s face changes, a hint of worry leaching in through the calculating. 

“We’ve got Mark Silber,” he says eventually and a flicker of _something_ passes over her face. “He’s in a coma…Stiles made sure of that.” He adds with triumph and Kate’s face twists with anger. 

“I guess I underestimated him then,” she replies, leaning back in her chair and masking her fury well. 

“Stiles or Mark?” Derek asks and she shrugs. 

“Both…Stiles especially. I thought he would go down easily. I hoped Mark would take matters into his own hands and squeeze the life out of him easily. I dreamed of your face when you found him, you know. How you would look with Stiles dead in your arms,” she says and Derek bites down on the inside of his cheek. 

“You are never get out of here, you understand? Never. You’re never seeing anyone again except the people that work here. You are never allowed access to computers,” he says, leaning forward and Kate mirrors him. 

“You think that’s punishment for me?” She asks and Derek nods once. 

“Yes, no one to fawn over you, no one thinking you are a Goddess? Yes Kate, for you that’s punishment.” Kate’s eyes narrow, her hands flatten against the table as she leans forward even more. 

“I will destroy you…you hear me, Derek?” She says, her voice a little above a whisper. 

“You’ve tried twice now…try harder next time.” Derek stands and signals to the Porter who unlocks the door and stands aside as Scott walks through it. 

“Derek…” Derek turns and Kate looks like she wants to launch herself across the table at him. “Say hi to Laura for me.” 

“Goodbye Kate.” 

The door closing and locking behind him has never sounded so liberating.

“You ok?” Scott asks as they slide back into the car. Derek looks down at his hands and tries to ignore the blood that seems to be indelibly marked on his palms. Blood from so many people that he couldn’t help. He sighs and rubs his hands on his jeans. 

“Yeah,” he replies, looking up at the Institute. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go home.”


	6. Chapter 6

_3 Months Later_

“God dammit,” Stiles groans as Derek spins out of his way, drops to the floor and wraps his legs around Stiles’. Stiles drops like a stone. Or at least he would have if Derek hadn’t controlled his fall like he always does. He’s still a little sore, ribs hurting every now and then and he’s suffered from headache probably 4 days out of 7 since they got back from Beacon Hills. Derek grins down at him as he gets on top of Stiles and presses his hands into the mat. 

“Watch for legs,” he says, squeezes Stiles’ wrists and gets off him. He stretches and Stiles wants to run his fingers over the exposed skin at his waist. 

They haven’t really touched since they’ve been back. Derek holding himself back from Stiles like he expects Stiles to break, looking at Stiles like he can still see the blood on him, the vivid cut down his cheek. Stiles rubs his cheek as he remembers the itch as it was healing. It’s still got a long way to go, but it’s scarred over pretty well, an unobtrusive line down his cheek. It could have been a hell of a lot worse and he tells himself that every time he looks in the mirror. The bruises have gone, still only a lingering hint of tenderness under his eyes where Mark broke his cheekbone but at least the skin is a normal colour now. 

As much as Stiles understands Derek’s desire to hold off until Stiles is completely better, he wants Derek too much to keep dancing this stupid dance. 

Derek’s been teaching Stiles self-defence. Although Derek admitted that Stiles did a pretty good job of Mark, he still needs to know the basics and he had said, with a low voice and his fingers around Stiles’ wrist “I can’t be there all the time.” Derek’s kissed him exactly three times since they’ve been back. Once three days after he got home, bringing chicken soup and X-Box games over. He kisses him pressed up against Stiles’ kitchen counter, brief and soft. The next time was when Stiles got back to work two weeks ago, Derek kissed him in the elevator and whispered “I missed you” into his mouth. The last time was yesterday, with Stiles pressed into the mat of the gym floor with sweat beading across his forehead and Derek’s body over his. Each time has left Stiles wanting more. HE had thought that being back here, away from Kate and the ghosts of what happened to Stiles, they would have been fucking like rabbits. Or so to speak what with Stiles’ broken ribs and all. But Derek’s being holding himself back and Stiles is done with it all. 

This self-defence teaching isn’t helping either, having Derek sweaty and pressed up against him for most of the mornings is playing havoc with Stiles’ libido and on more than one occasion Derek has extracted himself from Stiles with a knowing look and cleared his throat. 

“Derek,” Stiles holds his hand out and Derek reaches out to pull him to his feet. He’s gentle, he always is, mindful of Stiles still tender ribs, but he pulls Stiles close and flattens his hand against the small of Stiles’ back. 

“Stiles,” he says and Stiles blinks at him. Derek’s gaze flicks down to Stiles’ lips as Stiles darts his tongue out to wet them and he looks back up at Stiles with a slightly glazed expression. He drops Stiles like he’s burned so suddenly that Stiles stumbles. 

“Derek,” Stiles says again and Derek rolls his shoulders. 

“You’re hurt,” he says and Stiles scoffs, leans back against one of the pillars in the gym and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not,” he replies and Derek turns to him. 

“I’m trying not to take advantage,” Derek says, taking a step towards him despite his words. Stiles uncrosses his arms and raises one leg to rest his foot flat against the pillar. 

“And the fact that I want you to means nothing?” Stiles asks and Derek reaches him but doesn’t touch him, places his hands flat against the pillar beside Stiles’ head. 

“When he…” Derek starts and closes his eyes. “When he took you, I thought…I thought the worst and I…” He opens his eyes and his expression makes Stiles’ words of comfort die in his throat. “I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact I nearly lost you.” 

“You’re in love with me,” Stiles says, the words falling from his lips like he can’t stop them. Derek flinches but doesn’t move away and Stiles swallows and watches as Derek’s eyes track the moment. He blinks and finds Derek’s eyes fixed on his. He still hasn’t moved any closer, just hovers over Stiles, not touching him, his hands braced by Stiles’ head. Stiles can feel the warmth of his body and he wants to sink into it. 

“Hopelessly,” Derek mutters, and his nostrils twitch like he can smell Stiles’ skin from this distance. Stiles breathes in, wants to touch Derek but he’s reluctant to break this spell. 

“How long?” Stiles whispers and Derek breaks, moving his thumb to brush over Stiles’ temple, near where the scar Mark left starts. Stiles lets out a choked noise and leans into the small touch which is heavy with significance. 

“I can’t remember anymore,” Derek shakes his head like he’s confused and Stiles lifts his hand to the waistband on Derek’s old worn track pants. Derek’s hips move towards him and he lets out a small noise from the back of his throat. 

“That long huh?” Stiles asks, dipping is fingers into Derek’s pants. Derek’s skin is warm against the back of his knuckles and Derek lifts one hand from the pillar to curl around Stiles’ wrist. Not stopping, to encouraging, just touching. He lets his head rest against Stiles’ with a sigh that sounds like he’s wanted this for years. 

“That long,” he confirms and Stiles turns his hand, presses his palm to the skin on Derek’s hip. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up,” Stiles says and Derek runs his fingers down the scar on his cheek. Stiles reaches up and pulls his hand down, he doesn’t want reminders just yet of what Mark left on him. 

“Are you all caught up?” Derek asks and there’s a hint of pleading in his tone, of _Please God Stiles be on the same page as me_ and Stiles nods, threads his hand not currently clamped to Derek’s hip through his hair. Derek closes his eyes and leans into the touch. 

“Completely,” the word has barely left Stiles’ mouth before Derek’s lips are on his. Stiles moans, opening his mouth, _himself_ to Derek. Derek presses forward, but there’s a trembling tension in him that Stiles knows is because he’s still holding himself back from crushing Stiles to the pillar and kissing him like he wants to. “I won’t break,” he says as Derek breaks the kiss as runs his mouth down Stiles’ jaw. Derek’s answer is a rumble of noise from his chest and a nip of teeth on his ear lobe. Stiles would be happy to finish this right now, up against the pillar in the office gym, with his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist and Derek buried inside him. 

The door slams against the wall as someone flings it open and Derek jumps away, runs his thumb across his lower lip and Stiles nearly comes in his pants right there. Lydia lets out a laugh and Stiles manages to look at her in the doorway, with her hands on her hips and her hair framing her face. 

“Round table in ten minutes,” she says and then laughs again and she walks out. Derek sighs, runs his hands through his hair and his tongue across his bottom lip like he can still taste Stiles. 

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters and Derek lets out a shaky noise that could be a laugh. He reaches for Stiles, tugs him gently closer and kisses him, quick and thoroughly, with a promise of later on his lips. 

“When this case is done…” he leaves the rest of it hanging and Stiles nudges his nose with his own. 

“Your place or mine?” Derek doesn’t answer, just laughs and lets him go. 

“Anywhere with a horizontal surface,” is Derek’s reply and Stiles whines at it. “Stop whining, go shower.” 

…

The case takes a week to wrap up, missing girls, all brunette with blue eyes, and mercifully they had found them all alive. The unsub is now behind bars and Derek wants to sleep for a week. Stiles is asleep on his shoulder, breath hot against Derek’s collarbone and Isaac looks up from across the small table and smiles indulgently at them both before looking back out of the window. Derek wants to rest his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head but John looks at him from across the plane so he refrains. It’s not a look of malice but one of wariness. Derek gets it though, Stiles has been through a hell of a lot, kidnapping, physical torture and numerous injuries. He’s done well to get back to work as quickly as he has and even though Derek knows he still gets nightmares every now and then, according to John they’re not as bad as they were when they first got back. Almost killing Mark can’t have helped with his mental wellbeing either. Derek sighs and runs his fingers over Stiles’ knuckles where his hand rests on Derek’s thigh. Stiles shifts, turns his face into Derek’s neck and mutters something. 

Derek hadn’t wanted Stiles to come with them this time but Stiles had insisted, pulled the ‘I don’t want to be alone’ card and both John and Derek had let him come, but he’d been under strict guard the entire time and he had been practically vibrating out of his skin by the time they boarded the Jet. 

It’s tricky, what they have, undefinable in the sense that Derek’s so totally in love with Stiles he would do anything for him. But he would have done that even before. Stiles is part of his team, his family, and Derek would do anything for any one of them. Erica smiles into her laptop screen as he looks at her and he knows she’s talking to Boyd and her son on Skype. Lydia’s got her feet up on one of the couches and she’s reading a book on Astrophysics. Isaac’s staring out of the window like he will find all the unanswered questions in his head among the clouds, his fingers tapping against his thigh. Scott’s staring into space with his phone in his hand and a smile on his face and Derek lets out a small laugh at the ‘Allison’ expression. It’s what Stiles calls it. Deaton’s sitting next to John, his familiar face grounding in a way that Derek sometimes can’t explain. And then there’s Stiles. Stiles who is irritating and loud, who’s a technical genius and can fix anything with a small screwdriver and an elastic band, Stiles who grins at Derek and makes Derek’s world slow down. Derek wants Stiles in his life until the whole world crumbles and time stop. He wants that so much that sometime he can’t breathe. Stiles shifts again like he knows Derek is thinking about him and Derek gives in and rests his cheek to the top of Stiles’ head. 

_I love you_ he thinks and Stiles’ answer is the tightening of his fingers in Derek’s thigh. 

…

“So…” Stiles toes at the floor of the elevator and looks down at his feet. Derek resists the urge to pulls his face up with two fingers and look into those brown eyes. 

“Yes?” Derek answers, looking at the numbers illuminating down as the elevator descends to the basement car park. 

“We don’t have a case,” Stiles says looking up at the numbers as well. It hits three and Derek swallows. 

“Right.” Two. 

“And I’m assuming we’re both free for the evening.” 

“Correct.” One. 

“So…” Stiles says again and the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open. Derek holds the doors open as Stiles walks out. “Your place or mine?” Derek huffs out a laugh as he gets to his car. He opens the passenger door. 

“Stiles…get in the car.” 

…

“Hang on wait,” Stiles says as they practically trip over the pair of sneakers Stiles left in his hallway. They’re at Stiles’ because it’s closer and there’s no way in hell he was waiting any longer, especially in traffic, to get his hands on Derek. Derek freezes, unlatches his mouth from Stiles’ throat and steps back. “Ground rules.” Derek’s forehead wrinkles so adorably that Stiles has to laugh. “As much as I want you to throw me down on the nearest hard surface and fuck me until I can’t see anymore,” Derek’s jaw twitches at that, “I don’t think my ribs will take it so just go easy on me ok?” 

“Ok,” Derek says, coming back to Stiles. Somehow during the trip up the one flight of stairs Derek managed to get Stiles’ shirt buttons undone, whether he ripped them off or had done some magic with his fingers whilst Stiles had been distracted by Derek’s teeth at his jaw he has no idea but he doesn’t really care when Derek steps closer and runs his hands up Stiles’ chest and across his shoulders. The shirt falls down his arms and Derek runs his fingers across Stiles’ ribs, splaying out between the bones. 

“Also, no complaining about my apartment,” Stiles says and Derek nods as he runs his hands around and pulls Stiles closer. 

“Got it,” Derek’s hands are hot against his skin, moving up Stiles’ shoulders. He lowers his head to Stiles’ collar bone and scrapes his teeth across the skin there. Stiles lets his head fall back and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. He grips the strands at the back of his neck and Derek growls softly as Stiles pulls his head up. 

“Also…”

“For the love of God, Stiles, shut up,” Derek groans and pulls Stiles close, covering his mouth with his own before Stiles can answer. Derek backs him up, Stiles stumbles, nearly falls but then his back hits the wall and Derek presses forward, his thigh slipping between his own and Stiles groans into his mouth. Derek’s still fully clothed, his warmth seeping through his Henley where it’s pressed to Stiles’ chest, and Stiles wants to rectify that situation but can’t seem to tear his mouth away from Derek’s. Derek hums, pulls back and scrapes his teeth over Stiles’ bottom lip. 

“Too many clothes,” Stiles whines, tugging at Derek’s Henley and Derek huffs out a laugh as he pulls it over his head. Stiles has seen Derek half naked so many times before and has had the opportunity to appreciate his musculature more than once but now it’s different. Now Stiles can reach out and run his fingers through the grooves of muscle, spread his hands out over the dips of muscle on either side of his hips. Derek breathes out through his nose, his hands pressed to the wall next to Stiles’ head. He suddenly feels completely inadequate standing in front of Derek. Derek’s marble, sculpted perfection and Stiles wants to lick every inch of him. Stiles is…well, he’s not Derek. He frowns, wrinkles his nose and drops his hands. Derek catches them and lifts them above his head, one large hand curling around his wrists. 

“Don’t even think it,” he says and noses at Stiles’ neck. 

“Have you looked at yourself recently?” Stiles asks and Derek licks a long line up the front of Stiles’ throat. Stiles groans, bucks forward and tugs on his hands. Derek growls softly into Stiles’ mouth. 

“Have you?” Derek asks, biting on Stiles’ bottom lip again. 

“Mmmm…not the same,” Stiles mutters and Derek runs one hand down the centre of his chest, tugs gently at the line of hair below his belly button. 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says and kisses him slowly, deliberately. His hand dips into Stiles’ jeans, warm knuckles pressed to Stiles’ stomach. 

“Not the best way to talk yourself into my pants,” Stiles says and Derek’s fingers brush over the base of Stiles’ dick. 

“I’m already in your pants,” Derek says, and to prove his point, he curls his fingers around Stiles’ dick. The angle’s off, awkward where Stiles’ jeans are tight against his rapidly growing erection but it’s pressure all the same and Stiles groans. Derek squeezes his fingers around the base and kisses Stiles and even that is almost too much because it’s Derek. _Finally_. 

“Ok, so can we take this to the bedroom before my legs give out?” Stiles asks and Derek pulls his hands out. Stiles thanks god that Derek knows his apartment as well as he does because he’s pretty sure he couldn’t direct him right now. Derek grabs his hand and tugs him gently down the hall. He pushes the door open and walks through it. Seeing Derek in his bedroom is nothing new. Seeing Derek in his bedroom with no shirt and standing at the foot of Stiles’ bed, waiting for Stiles is completely different. In the best possible way. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he says and Derek cocks his head at him as he toes off his shoes. 

“I’ve been here before,” Derek replies and Stiles shakes his head as he pushes himself off from the doorframe and walks towards him. 

“Not like this,” he says, spanning his hands over Derek’s hips. Derek smiles at him, small but brilliant and Stiles grins back at him, his fingers tugging on Derek’s belt. 

“If it helps,” Derek says, hands reaching down to Stiles’ jeans and unpopping the button, “I can’t believe you finally caught up,” he smirks a little, eyes still downcast on Stiles’ jeans and Stiles can’t even come up with a decent response because Derek’s drawing the zipper down and running his hands around Stiles’ hips to splay his fingers out over his buttocks. 

“Took me long enough right?” Stiles mutters as Derek lowers his mouth to Stiles’ throat. He swallows and hears a low rumble from Derek’s chest. Stiles’ jeans slide down to the floor, pooling at his feet and Stiles steps outs of them and Derek tugs him close. Stiles can feel his erection hard against his thigh and suddenly needs a hell of a lot more than this slow exploration of each other’s bodies. There’s time for that later, once Stiles has seen Derek come apart, there’s time to taste the salt on Derek’s skin. But now he just needs. He groans and pulls Derek in for a kiss that’s as hard and demanding as he can manage and Derek answers it in kind. “Naked now,” Stiles mutters, tugging at Derek’s jeans, words muffled against Derek’s lips but Derek gets it and pulls away long enough to kick his jeans and boxers off. Stiles wishes he could take the time to appreciate Derek’s cock, the way it curves upwards towards his stomach, the hardness of it between his hands, the bead of fluid at the tip, but Derek pulls his back in and Stiles is once against at a disadvantage. Derek’s naked now, gloriously so and Stiles still has cotton trapping his erection. He shifts, tries to get his arms to work whilst still kissing Derek because Derek may be the best damn kisser in the entire world. Or maybe it’s just because its _Derek_ he’s kissing. Derek growls, pulls back and something in his expression tells Stiles he wants to throw him down on the bed but he doesn’t, mindful of Stiles’ ribs he pushes gently and Stiles goes willingly, if a little shaky leggedly. He shifts backwards, rests on his elbows as Derek kicks their discarded clothes out of the way, and crawls over Stiles. He goes slowly, running his fingers up Stiles’ leg as he runs his teeth across Stiles’ hip bone. He kisses at the ribs that were broken by Mark, pauses and rubs his cheek across the mending bone and looks up at Stiles. Stiles reaches down and cups at Derek’s face, runs his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone in reassurance and Derek moves again, ever upwards, flicking his teeth then tongue over one nipple. Stiles drops his head back and Derek’s tongue runs up his throat in one line. “I’m still not naked,” he grumbles and Derek huffs out a laugh against his lips. 

“So lazy,” Derek mutters back, but he goes back down, biting gently at Stiles’ collar bone, running his tongue around the other nipple, making his way down the other side of ribs, pausing to swirl his tongue over his belly button. He curls his fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ boxers and pauses, looking up at Stiles. 

“Now please,” Stiles says with a grin and Derek laughs again and shakes his head. 

“Not yet,” Derek replies and presses his lips to the cotton of Stiles’ boxers. Stiles groans, the urgency from earlier still thrumming in his veins but he can’t take his eyes off the sight of Derek mouthing at his dick through his boxers. He doesn’t want to either. Derek mouths at his dick, the cotton soaking through with saliva and sticking to his skin, but Stiles feels his dick harden the more Derek continues, it shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. 

“Fuck,” Stiles curses as Derek presses his thumbs into the creases of his hips. “Derek…” 

“You need something?” Derek asks innocently, looking up the length of Stiles’ body like he hasn’t just been trying to suck Stiles’ brains out through his dick via his boxers. 

“Yes…” Stiles lets himself fall back against the bed and groans as Derek runs his fingers up under the leg of the boxers, fingers touching his skin lightly as he leans back to Stiles’ dick. 

“What?” Derek curls his fingers into the waistband of the boxers again and tugs gently. “Tell me, Stiles.” The head of Stiles’ dick pops out from the elastic and Derek licks at the tip. But it’s still not enough. 

“Derek… _please_ ,” Stiles whines as Derek blows a stream of air across the sensitive tip. 

“Please what?” 

“You’re an evil bastard you know that?” Stiles says and looks down at Derek. Derek grins suddenly, brilliant and Stiles feels his heart trip in his chest. “Suck my dick.” Derek blinks, his grin falters slightly at Stiles’ boldness but it widens just before he tugs Stiles’ boxers the whole way down, Stiles lifting himself to help, and then he throws them over his shoulder and swallows Stiles whole. “Holy fucking shit.” Derek’s mouth is hot, almost burning, wet and skilled in a way that Stiles doesn’t want to think about. He swallows, hums, presses his tongue to the underside as he pulls off. HE bobs down again, humming as he does it and Stiles nearly comes then and there except this is not all he wants. He resists the urge to just give up, to fuck himself into Derek’s mouth and tugs on his hair instead. “Stop…wait,” Derek looks up at him, swipes a thumb across his bottom lip and Stiles groans. “Fuck me.” 

“Was that an expletive or a command?” Derek says with an eyebrow raised and Stiles doesn’t miss the way his voice sounds a little hoarse. He hooks his finger at Derek who crawls back up his body and kisses him. 

“A plea?” Stiles tries as Derek nudges their noses together. He laughs gently and traces his fingers over the scar on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles flinches and curls his fingers around Derek’s hand. “Don’t.” Derek looks down at him, his arms shaking against Stiles’ body where he’s holding himself up and there’s something unreadable on his face. Stiles shakes his head. “Just…” 

“It’s proof, Stiles,” Derek says, tugging his hand closer to Stiles’ cheek again, his fingers touch just by his temple, “proof that you’re not a victim, that you fought back,” he trails his fingers down and Stiles whines quietly. 

“I almost killed a man,” Stiles says, voice thick with something he doesn’t want to define. Derek shakes his head and leans down to press his lips to the bottom of the scar. 

“You didn’t,” he says, lips moving against his skin. Stiles runs his hand through Derek’s hair. 

“I would have,” he replies and Derek pushes himself up and sits across the top of Stiles’ thighs. He splays his fingers out between Stiles’ ribs. 

“But you didn’t,” he says, looking down at how his hands fit between the bones, “and even if you had,” he moves gently, his dick bobbing against his stomach, Stiles licks his lips, “it was self-defence, Stiles.” 

“But…” Stiles starts and one of Derek’s hand wraps around his dick and his words die in his throat. 

“Self-defence,” Derek says again, twisting his hand and Stiles nearly bites through his bottom lip, “you fought back.” Derek leans down, one hand planted beside Stiles’ head and his lips hover over Stiles’. “So do you want to shut up and let me show you how much I love you or do you want to talk some more?” Stiles lets out a choked sob as Derek runs his thumb nail across the tip of his dick and his words hit him square in the chest. He blinks up at Derek, out of focus and doubled but still brilliantly Derek and he never wants this moment to end. 

“Show me,” he says and Derek kisses him hard. Derek rolls his hips, Stiles’ dick, still slick from Derek’s mouth, slides together with Derek’s. Derek reaches between them and wraps a hand around them both and twists it, draws it upwards. His hips move counter to Stiles’ and it’s almost too much. Stiles grips at the short hairs at the back of Derek’s neck. “Show me…fuck Derek…please.” 

Derek growls softly, his teeth biting into Stiles’ bottom lip almost painfully. He moves though, ducks to the side and fumbles one hands, the other still wrapped around them both, in Stiles’ bedside cabinet drawer. He lifts condoms and a tube of lube triumphantly out of it and if Stiles’ wasn’t so painfully turned on he would laugh. Derek kisses him briefly as he pulls away and picks a condom from the packet. He chucks the rest of them over his shoulder and looks down at Stiles. 

“As much as I want to see your face when I fuck you, I think…” he trails off as Stiles reaches between them and grips at the base of his dick. Derek’s groans. “Turn over.” 

Stiles does because as much as he would want to see Derek’s face as he sinks inside him, he’s pretty sure his ribs won’t put up with the angle. He turns, lays his head on his hands and lifts himself to his knees. Derek groans from behind him, the crackle of the condom packet louder than it should be. Derek runs a hand down Stiles’ spin, fingers jumping over the bumps of bone and he mutters something under his breath. There’s the click of the lube bottle lid and then a slick finger circles around his hole and Stiles groans and pushes his hips back. Derek pushes his finger in slowly, past the first ring of muscle, then deeper, and Stiles groans as Derek curls his finger inside. He adds another, pushing it in just as slowly and there’s that familiar burn as he stretches around Derek. But it’s different this time because it’s Derek hand, and Derek gripping at his hip like his fingernails are going to break through the skin. Derek draws his fingers out almost all the way, pushes them back in and fucks Stiles slowly and deliberately with his fingers. He does it until Stiles is pushing his hips back, whining for more with a sheen of sweat beading across his back. Derek shifts his hand and there’s a burning patch of skin where it used to be. Derek adds another finger, curls his hand around to tugs at Stiles’ dick. 

“Derek…” Stiles mutters, turning his head in the circle of his arms and biting down on his own skin to stop himself from begging Derek to just fuck him already. Derek leans down, covers Stiles’ back with his chest and presses a kiss to Stiles’ shoulders. 

“You want more?” He asks, his voice low and dripping with sex. Stiles groans, tries to answer but ends up nodding the best he can instead. Derek kisses his neck and pushes himself back up only to pull his fingers all the way out leaving Stiles feeling empty and exposes. Derek squeezes at his hip to get him to stay put and he flips the lid of the lube again. The next thing Stiles feels is both Derek’s hands at his hips and the head of Derek’s dick pushing inside him so achingly slowly he’s pretty sure it’s going to drive him crazy. He pushes all the way in and stills. 

“Fuck Stiles…You feel…fuck I love you.” Derek grinds out and Stiles wants to answer him again but his voice is gone and all he can do is circle his hips, pulling Derek in deeper. They both groan, Derek’s deeper and louder as Stiles clenches around him. He’s holding still, Stiles knows what for, but he can’t find his voice and he just pushes back and whines and Derek gets the message. Pulls out almost all the way and pushes in slowly again.

“Harder,” Stiles manages to find words, one at least and Derek grunts in answer but pulls out and slams back in hard enough to drive the air from Stiles’ lungs. It hurts, his ribs mostly, but it’s so completely perfect that it makes Stiles groan again and pushes back, silently begging for more. It’s so much better than with anyone else, any of the nameless guys picked up in bars, or the stand in boyfriends. They were all substitutes for this, for Derek and Stiles feels his eyes prickle with tears and Derek growls again and pushes all the way in, drags the tip of his dick over Stiles’ prostate. 

Derek sets a hard rhythm, his grip bruising at Stiles’ hips, and he hits Stiles’ prostate every time he slams in and Stiles is a sweating wreck within minutes. He’s pretty sure he could come without being touched but his dick is aching for Derek’s touch, his hard grip. 

“Come Stiles,” Derek says, leaning over his, like he can read Stiles’ mind, “come without me touching you.” He speaks directly into Stiles’ ear when he says “come for me baby boy.” 

And Stiles does, comes with Derek buried inside him and Derek’s teeth scraping over his shoulder, Derek’s heart tripping in his chest and thumping through to Stiles’. Derek groans, leans up and fucks Stiles hard, his hips losing their rhythm as he Stiles clenches around him. Derek comes with a growl that almost doesn’t sound human, and his fingers twitch against Stiles’ hips. 

Derek rests his forehead to Stiles’ back, breathes in and Stiles feels his tongue lap out against his skin. He pulls out, running his hand over Stiles’ spine as he winces. Stiles hears the snap of the condom and then the dull thud as Derek throws it into the trashcan. Stiles rolls off to the side, mindful of the mess he made of his covers and Derek disappears on slightly shaky legs down the hallway. He reappears later with a small, damp towel. He laughs and Stiles opens his eyes to look at him. He looks like something out of a wet dream, his skin damp with sweat and he’s gazing down at Stiles like Stiles is the only thing in the world. He’s laughing at Stiles though and Stiles frowns at him. 

“What?” 

“You look…” He stops and runs the towel across Stiles' stomach. 

“What?” Stiles asks again and Derek drops the towel to the floor and leans down to kiss him. 

“Perfect,” Derek mutters and Stiles whines as he curls his hands around Derek’s face and kisses him. Derek manages to manoeuvre them into bed without rolling Stiles into his drying come on the covers and pulls Stiles tight against his chest. Stiles shifts against his aching ribs and tangles their legs together, pulling one of Derek’s arms over him and winding his fingers through Derek’s. 

The air’s thick with some many things that he wants to say so he just says the simplest that he can. 

“I love you too, by the way, hopelessly,” Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat and pulls Stiles tighter to him, his nose pressed to the back of Stiles’ neck. 

They’ve both got things to work through but for the moment Stiles is happy to stay right where he is. Where he belongs. With Derek’s arms around him. 

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, thank you all so much for the lovely comments. 
> 
> Molls, I hoped you liked it.


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